Bound in Blood
by dekicobee
Summary: Multi Warden A/U. Follows four of the origins, non cannon. Game events will happen, but more focused on the behind the scenes stuff. Expect Adventure, Blood and Romance (and hopefully a little humour) Contains spoilers of gameplay. Disclaimer:- Bioware owns Dragon age and all by-products thereof. I've just messed around with the characters we all know and love
1. In which a Bride is Widowed

Hello there fellow DA fans. This is my first attempt at creative writing EVER, so please be kind. Would love to know what you think, so please review! Contructive critisism welcomed, but please be kind! Disclaimer: Bioware owns Dragon Age and all that entails (hopefully this wouldn't offend them!)

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><p><em>Alistair,<em>

_My Congratulations once again on your joining the order, welcome to the Grey my friend. I am sorry to depart so soon after your conscription at my hand. With darkspawn amassing in the south, I fear we will need all the recruits we can muster in the days to come. A tourney is to be held in Highever, and the name Roland Gilmore has been mentioned to me by the Teyrn himself. I would be a fool to miss it. I will depart Denerim soon and will hopefully return with others that match your potential. I expect you to keep at your training; Gregoir has consented to assist you where he can, though perhaps not under the table this time._

_May the Maker watch over us all_

_Duncan_

Hurried footsteps and a heavy sigh were the only warnings she had before her thin wool blanket was whipped off her and she was forced to open her eyes. Standing over her was her cousin, brown eyes twinkling with the wide grin spreading across her face. 'Wake up!' The intruder demanded, 'it's your big day!' Without waiting for a response, the fiery red head leaped forward and pulled her cousin from the bed, over balancing in her enthusiasm and landing them both on the floor entangled in the mangled bedclothes.

She mustered up a reproachful glare, before demanding; 'Did I oversleep?' while stifling a yawn. She had spent the previous evening running the drills that her mother her taught her, something she always did when she was nervous or frustrated. Somehow she had ended up drilling into the small hours of the morning, which she regretted only slightly now. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and felt her cousin stiffen beside her. She let the silence stretch between them, arranging her features into innocent curiosity. 'Shianni..?' She quietly prompted. 'You do remember what today is don't you?' She could see the worried disbelief creep into her beloved cousins features, and the young elf couldn't help goading her a little further.

Pushing back her equally flame coloured hair; she pretended to ponder the question. 'Hmmmm, well I'm guessing you're not looking for Tuesday as an answer… Someone's wedding..? She answered eventually. 'A _double_ wedding!' came the exasperated response, '_you're _getting married and so is Soris!' Shianni practically screeched

At this her resolve crumbled and the soon-to-be-wed elf collapsed in a fit of giggles. Shianni blinked rapidly in surprise, not one to be so easily fooled. 'Cliodna Tabris, by Andraste's ass, you are _so_ going to get it!' With that said, she launched herself once again at the blushing bride and began to tickle her mercilessly.

A small cough put a stop to these shenanigans a little while later, their squeals no doubt having brought the owner of the house to them. Cyrion merely raised an eyebrow at the pair of young women, sprawled on the floor, red faced and grinning wildly.

The appearance of her uncle, reminded Shianni why she had woken her cousin in the first place. 'That's what I came to tell you! Your groom, Nelaros… He's here early! Clio shot a wide eyed look at her father, who smiled down at his only child and gave her a small nod.

Shianni had kept talking; as she was want to do, oblivious that her cousin was not hearing her any longer. 'Oh and Soris said that he'd be waiting for you outside.' Giving Clio a quick jab in the ribs to ensure she had heard at least this 'So move it!' And with a wink Shianni practically skipped from the room, leaving father and daughter alone together.

Disentangling herself from the bedclothes, Cliodna ran her fingers through her shoulder length hair before crossing the room and burying herself in her father's chest, allowing herself to feel like a child this one last time.

'My little girl' he said as he stroked he hair, he pulled back to look down at the face of the bright young woman his daughter had become. 'I wish your mother could have been here.' This remark caused her to look down and bite her lower lip before replying in barely a whisper, 'I know, me too.' Then steeling her resolve, she met his gaze once more and asked 'what should I be doing?'

'Time to find Soris. The sooner we get him wedded, the less chance you two having to escape' he gave her a mock stern look and wagged his finger. This having the desired effect caused a giggle to escape his daughter's lips. She shook her head and made to leave, still smiling.

She dressed, in simple clothing, not wanting to ruin the dress she had sewn herself for the ceremony. Just as she pulled on her mother's old leather boots, her father put a hand on the shoulder. 'One more thing before you go, my dear.' She turned back to her father and took in his serious expression. 'Your martial training…' he seemed unsure of where to go with this so she cut him off 'It doesn't matter' Relief seeped into his features and he opened his mouth to go on. Knowing his pain, Clio wrapped her arms around Cyrion and simply said 'I know Papa.' She kissed him on the cheek, shot him one last smile and ran from their home to find the elusive Soris.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. She was a bride. She should be happy, there should be laughter. She should be about to start her life with the wonderful man she had met. She should be wearing white.

She looked down at her gown. It was a delicate lace, not as fine as what the Shems would wear perhaps. But still the most beautiful garment she had ever owned. And it was red. Ruined with red smatterings, spattered with darker patches of red. She didn't much care for red.

They stumbled back to the Alienage in silence. Shianni gripped her hand tightly, it would have probably have been painful if she could feel anything. But as it stood she was numb. So numb she had yet to notice how violently her cousin was shaking as she struggled to put one foot in front of the other. Soris watched them both anxiously, the two strongest people he had ever known, now somehow broken.

On entering the Alienage he noticed the dark-skinned shem who had armed him talking in hushed tones to the Elder. On seeing their approach Valendrian took in the group before him and noted the absences. He then asked Soris' newly wedded wife to escort Shianni home. The group dispersed leaving only himself and Cliodna. 'Now tell me,' the Elder spoke softly 'what happened?'

Soris opened his mouth, dreading what he needed to say and really not knowing how to phrase it, when Clio suddenly snapped back to herself and saved him the trouble. 'The Arl's family just got a bit smaller.' She spat, fury radiating from her, making Soris snap his mouth closed and wince. 'Then the Garrison is most likely already on its way. You have little time.' Remarked the shem. 'Soris. To Shianni. Now!' She whirled around at him, something feral in her eyes that caused him to run.

Having hidden himself behind the Vhenadahl he saw the City Guard enter the Alienage. He watched the calm composure of the Elder and the heated retorts from the shem guard. Then he watched in horror as she stepped forward. No! She wouldn't, couldn't, but she obviously had. To save him. To save Shianni. To save them all. The shem that had known the Elder then stepped forward also. He also remained stoic, even as the face of the guard turned a deep red with fury and jabbed a finger at Clio before throwing his arms up. Was that defeat? He spat one last remark at them both before retreating.

Soris watched; leaning up against the tree of the people as she looked up at her shem saviour, giving a curt nod before speaking quickly to Valendrian. Then she fell into step beside the man they had only met that day, as they left the Alienage together.

He watched her retreating back, tears swimming in his eyes. A flower that she had twisted into her hair for the earlier celebrations, caught in the wind and sailed over to where he stood. He bent to collect the bloom, still pure white, unadulterated by the horrors she had lived this day.


	2. In which a Friend Becomes Foe

_Alistair,_

_I am now departing Highever, The tournament concluded. What I have seen with my own eyes compels me to return to the wardens as swiftly as I am able. I have left a number of missives imploring certain other candidates to join our cause, but at present I send only three recruits thus far. I leave them in your care. It is time to move out my friend, they will meet you there, I will join you all soon, under the banner of the king at Ostagar._

_May the Maker watch over us all_

_Duncan_

Alistair sighed heavily, he was _not_ a leader. He glanced over the notes Duncan had sent in advance trying to gage the new recruits before her met them.

_Ser Jory_

_Knight from Highever (won the Tourney). _

_Originally from Redcliff_

_Family: Wife (with child)_

_Fighting style: Warrior, very honour orientated_

_Favoured weapon: two-handed Greatsword_

_Volunteered to join the order_

_Daveth_

_Fellow from Denerim_

_Originally from a village on the outskirts of the Korcari Wilds_

_Family: None_

_Fighting style: Rogue, dirty fighter_

_Favoured weapon: dagger, can duel wield and also knows how to handle a bow_

_Conscripted willingly_

_Cliodna_

_Elf from Denerim Alienage_

_Family: Husband (deceased), Father and Cousins_

_Fighting style: unknown._

_Favoured weapon: unknown, can wield a short sword._

_Conscripted under slight duress._

Alistair read through the notes again. Not that there was much to get through. He could not believe Duncan was asking him to do this! He felt a small well of pride, which quickly dissipated into a wave of panic. He could not be a leader, over a decade in the Chantry had drummed that into him!

And Yet Duncan had chosen him, trusted him. He obviously saw something, or at least he thought he did in the young Templar. And Alistair trusted Duncan implicitly, so he could do this! Well, he would at any rate. Hopefully. Oh Maker! He ran a hand through his hair, carefully avoiding flattening the carefully sculpted spikes at the front.

He stowed the notes and made his way toward the entrance of the camp. He was still getting his bearings here, but the layout was pretty straight forward. If all else failed, he could always fall back on his roguish good looks and winning personality. Or, you know, questionable humour and a well-placed wink. It was then that he saw them approach. Well, here goes nothing, he thought. 'Ho, there!' he greeted them with a sheepish smile, 'welcome to Ostagar.'

She could feel his presence without opening her eyes. She could even distinguish which "him" it was, from the waves of nervous energy rolling off him as he shifted from foot to foot. She silently contemplated continuing with the ruse of sleep, when she became aware of the other "him" as he nonchalantly sank down on to her bed.

'Maker's Breath! Can't a girl get some sleep, it's not like I had a busy night or anything!' The young elf rolled onto her side to glower at the two other magi, pushing her long silvery hair from her face. This called the nervous "him" to start, and on recovering himself he asked 'Are you alright? Say something, please!' She blinked slowly at him once, then propped herself on one elbow to extract her pillow from beneath her. She then projected it at her friend with vicious accuracy.

'Nice shot!' exclaimed the other young man, 'though if I were you, I'd have used my shoe.' 'Hmmm, a very good point and well made fine ser.' She scooped up one of her shoes from beside the bed and quickly sat up. With her pale blue eyes twinkling, she shifted to her knees and held the slipper high ' I yield! I yield!' he chucked, holding his hands up in surrender.

It was at this point that the previous evenings events caught up with the feisty shoe wielder, and she fought to contain an almighty yawn. Seizing the opportunity, her friend plucked the slipper from her grasp, ruffled her long curtain of silver hair and stuck his tongue out at her.

'Go boil your head, Damien Amell!' She pouted, tucking her mussed up hair behind her pointed ears.

'I'm so glad you're alright! They carried you back in this morning, I hadn't even realised you'd been gone all night!' 'Why Thank you kind Ser, when a girl has been forcibly plucked from her bed, and endured a full night of something that can only be described as "harrowing", all she wants is to be woken early to find two men in her bed!' She smiled sweetly back at him, ad revelled in the blush creeping slowly up his neck.

'I've heard of apprentices that never come back from their harrowings' he replied quietly, not able to meet her eye. 'Was it really that dangerous?' She quickly exchanged glances with Damien, and realised he had already been asked this very question. She sighed heavily and looked up at him once more. 'Jowan, we're friends, but don't ask me this. You know I can't tell you.'

Suddenly she found herself unable to look at him, her fingers becoming very interesting. She needed to cut her nails again she noted. 'Eilonwye' he implored, and she could just tell he had big brown puppy eyes, 'Just a hint and I swear I'll drop it!'

Still focusing on her soon-to-be-talons, she felt Damien tense beside her. Chancing a glance at Jowan, she saw that he was indeed sporting his trademark puppy dog eyes. He was also hugging her pillow to him as a child might a stuffed animal. She softened slightly and replied gently 'It is a test of skill, nothing more.'

She could feel the piercing deep blue eyes of Damien still on her, but felt his body relax somewhat, as he now knew she would not share the true nature of the harrowing with their apprentice friend.

As Jowan opened his mouth again, she raised a delicate pale hand and offered a sympathetic smile 'patience my friend, you'll go through it soon enough.'

Jowan dejectedly accepted that she would divulge no further secrets, and turned away with a scowl. 'And now you get to move up to the nice mage quarters upstairs with Damien, and I'm stuck down here not knowing when they'll call me for my harrowing!'

This stung; coming from one of her two long standing friends at the tower. Damien moved as though to chastise him, but Eilonwye put her hand on his arm and shook her head. 'They'll summon you to the test when you're ready.' She spoke softly, trying to offer him comfort in some small way, and flinched as he whirled back around to them, fire in his eyes.

'I've been here longer that you have' he spat, 'sometimes I think they just don't want to test me!' His voice then dropped to barely a whisper 'You do the harrowing... the Rite of Tranquillity… or you die.'

She jumped from her bed at this and grasped both of his hands in hers. 'They're not going to kill you Jowan!' He couldn't meet her eye. 'They might not. But the ROT is just as bad… maybe worse.' A tear escaped his eye and splashed on to her wrist.

He immediately dropped her hands and backed away from her 'Sorry Eila. I shouldn't waste your time with this'. He gestured towards Damien, who had appeared at his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. And then he was gone, having hurriedly removed himself from the room.

Eilonwye watched him leave in silence. Then she turned to Damien, unshed tears in her eyes. Damien returned her gaze, deep blue into sky, and something unspoken passed between them.

'I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up' Damien stated pensively 'and I do believe congratulations are in order.' Eila took a deep breath and allowed her lips to form something resembling a smile. Taking this as his cue, Damien proffered his arm. 'Allow me to escort you my lady' he said with a glint in his eye, internally smiling as she linked her arm in his and replied 'Why thank-you Messere!'

Blood. There was blood everywhere. And it everything hurt. Was it his blood he mused as he rolled on to his side. And then he saw her, sprawled on the floor a little way from him, covered in blood. It soaked her new robes, and had stained her hair.

Panic setting in, he forced himself forward, crawling through even more blood, reaching for her tiny hand. Cold, so very cold. He tightened his grip and felt the bile rising in his throat, but then he also felt something else. A very faint, but hopeful flicker. She had a pulse.

A small groan escaped hip lips and her eyes flickered open. Relief was short-lived however, as more figures began to stir, and others resolutely did not. He looked back down into her pale eyes and watched as comprehension dawned there.

She gripped his hand back as they helped each other to rise. She was hurting, he knew. But the deepest pain came not from any bodily injury, but a betrayal. The unspoken communication passed between the two once more and they turned to face the Knight Commander, both having accepted what must surely come next. He offered up a silent prayer, his eyes resting on the First Enchanter. She squeezed his hand, and he hers and they both knew. Knew that whatever must come next, they would face it together.


	3. In which a Leopard Shows its Spots

So I realised when I was writing this, that the Human noble is my favourite origin. I've had to break it into two chapeters as it was getting crazy long. Hope nobody minds the changes I've made ;)

_Alistair,_

_Upon leaving Highever I was forced to seek refuge in Kinloch Hold from a violent storm. I had hope merely for shelter and perhaps a meal, but have been blessed with two more promising recruits. As they have never before left the tower, I shall have them accompany me. There is one more stop I must make my friend; I trust that Daveth, Cliodna and Jory have found you by now._

_May the Maker Watch over us all_

_Duncan_

Something was wrong. Very wrong. What was it? He couldn't breathe, that was it! His eyes snapped open and found himself looking into two big brown eyes.

'Get _off_ flea bag!' he chastised the war hound, while trying to shove him off. The effect of this was somewhat diminished however, due to lack of air.

The mabari gave him a doleful look and licked his face before dismounting. The animal stood next to the large bed and wagged its stumpy tail, panting hot smelly breaths on to the young man.

'Alright, _alright,_ you horrible creature!' He said, reaching out to pat the dog. 'Where is she?' The dog tilted its head to one side and continued to pant, in what he could only interpret as feigned ignorance.

'Don't give me that, not only is the door still shut, I'm pretty sure I locked it last night. So I'll ask again, where is she?' He scratched behind the beasts ears, weakness he knew to exploit. 'Well?' The dog rested its head on the edge of the bed, looking up at the man in raptured bliss.

'Well if you're not going to tell me, kindly allow me to sleep you wretched creature!' he exclaimed, smiling down at the pampered pet and giving him one last pat.

He made to turn over and saw the golden blonde hair fanned out across his pillow, framing her sleeping face. He groaned loudly and poked her hard in the shoulder.

'Ouch! It would seem that the only wretched creature in this room is you, when this is how you treat a beautiful woman found in your bed!' She huffed snapping open her brilliant green eyes.

'I'm pretty sure it doesn't count when said woman is one's little sister. Dare I ask why you are in my bed Rosalie?' 'I'm hiding obviously!' She replied casually, stretching lazily like a cat. 'And don't pretend you don't know why!'

'I have been the perfect lady for the duration of the tournament, sporting the latest fashions from Orlais even though they are worse that any Antivan torture device. I didn't even push it when I didn't get to meet that Grey Warden despite the fact he was staying here.

'And now Fergus is heading south for battle and you'll be running the castle and _I'm_ off to Lady Landra's Summer Salon. Where I will no doubt be trussed into more torturous garments and be paraded in front of every incompatible fool noble available.

'Really Aiden, you would think a blight might take priority!' She looked at him reproachfully as she paused to recover from her outburst.

She then rearranged her features into a look Aiden had no doubt the "fool nobles" could never refuse. 'Just one day to be me, is it so much to ask?_ Please_ Aiden!'

'Please what?'

'You _know_ what!'

'Do I?'

She let out a heavy sigh. 'If you don't, I will no doubt have to wear yet another dress and make small talk with Dairren. Again.'

'So, you've hidden in my room _all_ night, on the off chance that mother won't find us until we are far to covered in sweat for polite society?'

'You catch on fast My Lord!' she grinned at him impishly 'I knew you knew.'

'Well there is still the problem of reaching the training ground, in full armour, without mother catching us.' He rubbed the sleep from his equally green eyes and stifled a yawn.

'Way ahead of you, brother dear!' Rosalie threw back the covers and revealed herself to be in full leathers, bar her boots which were at the side of the bed.

Aiden stared at her as she pulled on her new leather boots and retrieved a rope from beneath his bed. 'You actually slept like that?' He asked incredulously.

She grinned down at him, fastening one end of the rope to the post of his bed in a complicated knot. 'I am nothing if not prepared!' And throwing the length of rope from his window, she called over her should 'Let's go, brother dear!

Her plan had worked for the most part. She had spent a glorious morning at the training ground, sparring with Aiden and Ser Gilmore.

Her mother had eventually found them there and scolded all three of them back to their duties.

Aiden had been called to a meeting with their father, no doubt to go over how to run the castle in his absence. Rosalie did not envy him that! Especially as Arl Howe was in attendance, and he was forever trying to marry his children to them.

She had been forced into a dress, though a much more comfortable one as she made her rounds of the castle, bidding farewell to those she would not see for the best part of a month.

Knights, squires, the castle staff, even her old tutor Aldous, she would miss them all dearly. There was one an particular she would miss, Nan.

Cerberus, her purebred mabari war hound, would also miss Nan it seemed. He had somehow found his way into the larder and was terrorising the kitchen staff when Rosalie caught up to him. In penance she had ended up helping our in the kitchen for most of the afternoon, and she rather enjoyed the manic pace.

When Nan was satisfied that Rosalie had done enough, she fussed a little over her, retelling a story that Rosalie had favoured as a child. Before she set out from the kitchens she threw her arms around the neck of the old woman.

Not one for emotional displays, her old nanny patted her on the back, and chided her former charge for keeping her from her duties.

Supper was to be early that evening, as her father and brother were due to set out. She was therefore spared mindless small talk with their visitors as she was expected to bid them farewell.

Aiden caught up with her in the family wing, and they approached their elder brothers quarters together. Something was off about her brother. She reached out and stopped him, holding on to the back of his tunic.

'What's wrong? Has something happened?' He let out a sigh and turned to her. 'I'm not sure. Nothing has happened, but…' He sucked his teeth pensively. 'I guess I just have a bad feeling about this.'

Rosalie quickly scrutinised her brother's face, making sure he wasn't holding anything back from her. Having decided he wasn't, she let out a small sigh of her own and gestured toward their elder brother's room.

Their eyes meeting, they broke into simultaneous grins. He gave her a small nod, at which they both threw open the door and wrestled their unsuspecting sibling to the floor.

It was like this that their parents found them. Entangled, red-faced and laughing together. The Teyrn smile down at his children, who never showed this joyful state of abandon with anyone but each other.

His wife cleared her throat, breaking his reverie. All three jumped and looked guiltily up at them, as they had so often when they were children.

'When you are quite finished,' admonished their mother, 'I would hope you intend to prepare for dinner. Nan has truly outdone herself.' Her green eyes, that all three young Courland's had inherited, danced with a smile, as they jumped to their feet.

'We shall feast together this night, before we must part ways.' Bryce placed a hand on his wife's shoulder as she gave a small sniff. He then turned to his eldest son, 'Our plans must change I'm afraid.'

He held up a hand to prevent any interjections 'Rendon's men have been delayed. Fergus, you will take out men, bar the garrison to be stationed here and depart tonight. I will ride on the morrow under the banner of Amaranthine and join you at Ostagar.'

Fergus frowned, but gave a nod 'Then I might prepare our men and ready myself for the off father.' Placing his arms across his chest in salute, he left the room, muttering something about walking backwards.

Aiden collapsed onto his bed, taking in the day's events. It had been a strange on, that was for certain. But there was something nagging at the back of his mind that he couldn't seem to pin down.

He was sure that he had all the pieces, if he could only put them together. Perhaps if he were to talk thing through with Rosalie, maybe she had the last piece of the puzzle. She always had an uncanny knack to understand what was going on.

His little sister had a different way of looking at things, and always noticed the things others deemed unimportant.

He heaved himself into a seated position, and briefly wondered if she was already asleep. Deciding that he didn't care, she owed him for his own rude awakening; he jumped to his feet and exited his chambers.

Her door was closed, but unlocked. He was glad of that; he had no idea how to pick locks without permanently damaging them.

Unfortunately she was conspicuously absent. Cerberus looked up at him from the sheepskin rug mournfully. 'She left you behind?' he asked the dejected dog, who answered with a pitiful whine.

Now this was perplexing, she was rarely seen without the beast at her side. He bent down to give the abandoned dog a quick pat.

A melodious Antivan accent broke into the room. 'Where is she?' He looked up to see his sister-in-law smiling down at him.

'We seem to have misplaced her, haven't we Seb? Wait, why are you looking for her?' It struck him as a little odd. The two women got on well enough, but had very little in common and it was getting very late.

'Because Oren is not in his bed, and I do believe your dear sister was discussing the finer points of archery over dinner.' She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him.

'Ah! That would explain why you're still here my friend.' Aiden remarked to the dog. 'You would be attempting to cajole them into a game of fetch and no doubt prove a great distraction to my dear nephew.'

He turned back to Oriana. 'Then we must away to the training grounds my lady, but first might I suggest a change of attire? Flying arrows would surely best even Orlesian silk. And I doubt Oren has mastered his aim quite yet.'

He winked and threw open his sisters armoire. 'Help yourself.' He gestured to the light armour sets mixed in with her formal attire. 'You're about the same size right? I'll just grab a shield and we'll get going'

Oriana shook her head at Aiden's retreating back, smiling to herself. He was so like Fergus in so many ways. She turned back to the task at hand and browsed for a set that had the fewest buckles.

Having pulled out a set that at least had a skirt, she began to wonder why any woman would choose to wear these awful garments and spend their time physically fighting! She could only assume it had something to do with having two older brothers.

Oriana was sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on some ugly beaten leather boots when she heard the bell begin to toll.

Cerberus sprang up with fluidity surprising of a beast his size. A low growl in his throat as his hackles rose. Oriana watched him, dread creeping at her heart, when the war hound surged forward and left her in the room alone.

She could hear a fight breaking out nearby, but she was frozen to the spot. Unarmed and unsure of what to do. She then found herself face to face with an armed man, bearing the Howe insignia.

Oren! She suddenly felt panic set in. Where was Oren? The soldier approached her slowly, smirking arrogantly. Suddenly he lurched toward her, propelling her onto the bed behind her.

She found herself with his blade at her throat, as he discarded his shield and began to wrestle himself out of his greaves. No. This couldn't be happening. She couldn't let it happen, she had to do something!

She grasped about on the bed, bile rising in her throat as she noticed this had widened her attackers smile. Then her fingers brushed against something cold. There was something in the beaten old boot.

She squirmed and wriggled, eyes clamped shut at she felt the man above her begin to paw at her. She sent a silent prayer to the Maker as her fingers closed around the hunting knife, and then she forced herself to snap her eyes open as she thrust her hand upward.

It was warm, and surprisingly sticky. She hadn't expected that she thought as the blood seeped down her arm. The deadweight of his body still pinned her to the bed, though now unmoving, he posed a much smaller threat.

She briefly wondered what else was concealed in the boots and how on earth Rosalie could walk in them. She became aware that someone was shouting. She turned her head to see Aiden in the doorway, spattered with blood and panting.

He really could be a younger Fergus she mused. He crossed the room in a few long strides. 'We have to move. Are you hurt?' Without waiting for her to answer, he threw the corpse from her and pulled her to her feet, searching for any sign of injury.

Satisfied the blood coating her was not in fact her own, Aiden crossed the room to his sister's vanity. Having opened a drawer Oriana was not aware existed; he thrust a beautifully ornate pair of daggers into her hands.

She stared up at him blankly, uncomprehending. 'Stay behind me. We _will_ find them!' She could scarcely nod as he pulled her round and surged out of the room, to collect the war hound that was tearing down the only living foe in sight.


	4. In which some Birds fly South

Oriana followed behind him in a trance like state. Stumbling, she looked down to see a wake of corpses under foot. Some were armoured, bearing either the Howe or Cousland insignia. Most though were clearly castle staff, elves and humans staring unseeingly back at her.

It wasn't until they reached the library that she felt something switch within her. It wasn't the body of her son's tutor, or that of one of the visiting nobles. It was seeing the two young squires, sprawled mercilessly on the cold stone floor.

Children. They had murdered innocent children! These children weren't aristocracy, or distant relatives. They were merely ward of the castle, studying under Aldous.

She let out a guttural howl, loud and feral as she ran from the room. The sound of her voice brought several more soldiers running, but fuelled by this feral rage she surged forwards, slashing wildly at them.

Her undisciplined tactics threw her assailants initially, unsure of where she would aim next dropping them into defensive stances. Pressing this advantage she threw herself at the man on her left, slicing at his eyes with her left hand, managing to nick the tip of his cheekbone.

Dropping quickly to her knees, she threw the dagger in her right hand at someone trying to close in on her from behind which lodged satisfyingly in his neck.

Turning back she started at the proximity of the one whose face she had cut. Pushing herself backwards, she threw the dagger in her left hand at the advancing guard. The fear now gripping her affected her aim and he deflected the blade with ease.

He smiled down coldly at her as she scrambled back away from him, now unarmed. She tried to stand, regain her footing, but he lashed out with his heavy plate boot, forcing her back to the ground.

Eyes swimming with pain, she watched with horror as he collected the weapon he had deflected. Bending down over her, he swept the blade down the length of one cheek and then, a malevolent look in his eye, the other.

With all the dignity she could muster, she forced herself to stare him in the eye, daring him to finish it. The man above her jolted, a look of puzzlement etched into his features. She followed his gaze down, to find an arrow head protruding from his chest.

She looked back up at his face, meeting his eye once more and smiled sweetly. Then using the entirety of her own weight, she kicked out at him with both feet. Righting herself, she scooped the dagger from beside the prone corpse.

It was only then that she was able to take in her surroundings. Aiden and Cerberus had dispatched the others she had brought to them in her outburst of rage; and her mother-in-law Eleanor had saved her life.

A sudden realisation hit Oriana. What a fool she had been. She didn't know how to protect herself, let alone fight. She had put Aiden in danger as well, tear swimming with tears of a different nature; she opened her mouth to apologise.

Before she could even begin forming the words, the Teyrna desperately asked; 'Are you both alright? Have either of you seen Bryce? He didn't come to bed'

Neither of them had ever seen Eleanor Cousland like this before. A formidable woman, she had always maintained a dignified composure, even when chiding he offspring.

'I believe he had intended to take a nightcap with the Arl' Aiden spat, watching as his mother's eyes widened at the implication of this.

She thrust a key into her son's hand; 'remember what's important!' And then she turned on her heal and ran toward the great hall.

Oriana made to follow her, but Aiden grabbed her by the shoulder. 'Behind me!' Was all he said before racing off toward the family vault.

He removed barely anything from the room; a sword, a shield and a pouch of coin, before he too ran off to the great hall, Oriana in his wake.

'My lord, my Lady; thank the Maker you are alright!' 'Have you seen my father Rowland? Or my mother?' Aiden interrupted. Tears were now falling freely from Oriana's eyes and he knew he had to get her out of there.

'The Teyrn was wounded, I sent him with a few me to one of the servants exits. They had to practically carry him as he refused to leave without you. Your mother followed after him a short while ago.

'Wait,' said Roland, 'where is Lady Rosalie?' At this Oriana fell to her knees and began to sob. 'We don't know Rory, we can only hope that she and Oren are together and safe and will find us soon. I believe they are already outside the castle. We haven't seen a trace of either of them back there'

Aiden then crouched down and spoke softly to Oriana; 'Don't give up now!' He implored, helping her back to her feet.

She stood shakily, tears still streaming down her face and nodded up at him. Aiden turned back to the Knight he had grown up with, trained with and saw as another brother. 'Come with us.' He said simply.

'I will hold the door my Lord; give you the best possible chance.' His reply came stiffly as Roland tried to keep any emotion from his face. The red haired Knight saluted his best friend, set his jaw and re-joined the men attempting to barricade the doors.

It was Oriana's turn to tug Aiden away and they picked their way to the kitchens. Corpses of those he had known all his life littered the halls of his home. Finally they reached the kitchens.

Aiden had to fight to keep the contents of his stomach as he stepped over Nan; his old nanny who had laughed with him, berated him and been a second mother to all the Cousland children. And then he saw his father.

He had to find her, he had to! She had to be alright and somewhere out here looking after Oren.

They had left his mother, who had refused to leave his father's side as he lay dying. He clutched the trinkets she had handed to him before he had left them to burn in the only home he had ever known, with everyone he had ever loved.

All that is; but Fergus and Rosalie, so right now he sought his sister like a beacon. He skirted the perimeter of the castle, looking for any hint of her whereabouts. If she had any sense she would have taken refuge in the nearby wood.

And then he heard her, not in the wood, but on the beach. And she was… singing. Cerberus ran off towards the sound of his mistress.

He signalled to Oriana to follow him as quietly as possible, down onto the sand of the private bay below the castle.

And there she was, kneeling in the open, cradling an unmoving child. The moonlight caught in the tears running down her face; as she rocked the small form in her arms singing a lullaby Aiden recognised as one Nan had sung to her as a child.

_'Hushabye, don't you cry, go to sleepy little lady._

_When you wake, you shall have; all the pretty little horses._

_Blacks and Bays, Dapples and Greys,_

_Cart and six-a-little ponies._

_Hushabye, don't you cry, go to sleepy little lady.'_

Rosalie sang as she felt the life's blood flow from the innocent in her arms; onto the sand beneath them. Finally she saw the little chest fall for the last time, and she closed the eyes, now unseeing as she finished the lullaby and clutched the child to her chest and she cried silently.

Oriana had fallen in a dead faint as soon as she had seen the silhouette of Rosalie. Aiden stopped her from hitting her head, and then crossed the sand between himself and his sister. She had not noticed the war hound at her side, nor did she notice him approach; neither of which had ever happened before.

He dropped to his knees sweeping her into a tight embrace and held her as she sobbed still clutching the tiny corpse.

A little while later he pulled away from her and scooped the child from her arms setting the body down on the sand. He then helped his sister to stand and they stood hand in hand looking up at their burning home.

'I saw the fires' she told him. 'We ran back to the edge of the wood' Aiden gripped her hand more tightly. She turned to him, looking up at her brother. 'She was just staggering about, there was blood everywhere, there was nothing I could do!' She broke of and swallowed deeply. 'She wanted to see the stars, so I brought her down here. I sang her to sleep.'

They both looked down at the small elven girl, the daughter of one of the kitchen staff. She really did look as though she was sleeping in the darkness.

Aiden broke the silence, 'so... is he…' 'Hiding' she replied. With a sniff, she composed herself and looked back up at her brother's face. 'We'd best retrieve him and set out.' Aiden frowned back at her slightly. 'South, the king's army. Fergus. The Grey Wardens'. He nodded and strode back up the sands to Oriana; lifting her over his shoulder.

As they entered the wood he made sure to follow precisely in Rosalie's footsteps; as he was sure she would have safeguarded the area well.

He watched as his sister brought her hands up to her mouth and produced a convincing bird call, and waited.

Aiden began to feel the edges of panic as the silence stretched out before them. Rosalie had closed he eyes and was listening too.

Suddenly her eyes shot open and she began to shin up a tree. Aiden had heard nothing and withdrew his sword as his sister disappeared into the foliage. He finally let out the breath he hadn't know he had been holding as she came back into view; with his nephew clinging to her back.

Oren let out a gasp as he saw his mother was hanging over his uncle's shoulder. Aiden carefully lowered the boy's mother to the ground allowing him to see she was still breathing.

He had forgotten about the cuts that now lined her cheeks. Cursing himself, he watched as the little boy reached out with shaking hands to touch his mama's face.

Oriana's eyes fluttered open, and on seeing her son alive; pulled him into her arms as she sat up and rocked him silently as Rosalie had done down on the beach.

Rosalie crouched down, 'There should be a healing poultice in the left boot.' When Oriana didn't respond, she gave the heel of the battered leather boot a tug, freeing a couple of vials.

After giving one a quick sniff to verify its contents, Rosalie applied a little of the salve along the two deep cuts. Oriana did not even flinch as her flesh began to knit back together; to absorbed was she in holding her only child to her.

Turning back to Aiden, Rosalie began to gather up various things from the ground. 'I'll need to dismantle some traps and I have some basic provisions, but we weren't planning on camping; so I don't have a tent or anything.

'Is anyone else…' she looked up at him hopefully, and it broke his heart to have to shake his head. 'Then we need to collect what we can and get out of here as fast as we can. Move south, we know where Fergus is and… we need to tell him.'

Passing him a moderate pack she let out a sigh. 'I'm pretty sure the Grey Warden was planning on taking the Brecillian Passage to Ostagar' Aiden stared at her. 'That is completely nonsensical; surely the Imperial Highway would make for much better time?'

'Well that would depend on whether or not you intended to encounter the Dalish on your travels.' She looked a little guilty at this remark. 'What aren't you telling me?' he asked his sister.

'Well I might have spoken to Aldous, and he might have mentioned that one of fathers more prestigious guests; had asked for any literature we might have pertaining to the Dalish in our extensive collection.

'I might have also found a selection of maps detailing various routes plotted between Kinloch Hold and the Brecillian Forest'. Rosalie could no longer meet her brothers eye 'And?' He prompted. She offered him a small smile 'And I might have taken them.'

She ducked down and pulled a sheaf of papers from the boot she herself was wearing and thrust them into his hands. She really was a marvel he thought.

'As it stands, I think we should just get moving. No point making plans in the dark and we need to get as far from here as we can. If we cover our tracks we could get a good lead; with any luck the bastards won't realise we're not dead until sometime tomorrow. The traps are up now, we can get going'

Aiden took the lead, carrying a sleeping Oren on his back. Oriana walked just behind them matching his pace. Rosalie followed behind, covering their tracks swiftly and expertly as they headed south in search of the only family they had left.


	5. In which the Hunter becomes the Hunted

Why was he here? He didn't want to here, and yet here he was. Where even was here? He did not remember there being a cave in this section of the forest, and he prided himself on his knowledge of the area.

He put himself on high alert, taking in his surroundings with all of his senses. It was unnaturally quiet here; not only was there a lack of birdsong, or twigs snapping, the very breeze was still here. The air had a metallic taste to it, as though he were breathing in blood.

His forest green eyes darted around, searching for movement; any sign of life, but there was none. Not to mention it was some thieving Shemlen that had brought them here. He did not like this place.

'We should leave' he stated, turning to his blonde companion. 'This place makes me wary.'

'What?' came the reply 'Without even checking inside? Do you fear Fen'Harel lies in wait?' Blue eyes met green and dared him to back out now.

'We should inform the Keeper, Tamlen.' His face remained passive, his voice unfaltering; but he made no move to leave.

'Always the careful one,' Tamlen rolled his eyes; smirking at his clan mate, 'fine Alwen, but _I'm_ not running back to the Keeper until I know there's something to make a fuss over.' And with a wink he ducked into the mouth of the cave.

The further into the cave they ventured the more uneasy Alwen felt. Even the fearless Tamlen had begun to feel nervous. He had stopped pointing out the architecture and spouting theories of their lost heritage at any rate.

'Hey… weren't you supposed to be assisting Master Ilen today?' He rambled, shooting a glance at his fellow hunter, then without waiting for a response asked; 'how did you end up coming with me?' Tamlen kept his tone light, but having grown with the elf; hunted at his side, Alwen could feel the fear now radiating from his oldest friend.

He allowed his mouth to quirk up at one side. 'You know me; I leave the camp whenever I can.' This had the desired effect as Tamlen's easy grin returned and made some quip that likened him to a Shem.

They kept the banter up, trying to alleviate the tension of the atmosphere pressing in on them. Until Alwen stopped still, flicking his tawny fringe from his eyes. He strained his sensitive ears, but heard nothing.

The passage continued ahead of him, a door to their right. It would be foolhardy to continue; this place felt…wrong. He grabbed Tamlen by the neck of his leathers and hauled him back to his side.

Neither elf moved, nor made the slightest sound. They waited, though neither knew what for. Alwen could hear something now, and it was coming closer.

Then it rounded the corner, rusted weapon in hand. Vaguely human in size; but wasted looking, unlike anything he had seen before. Tamlen fumbled trying to nock an arrow into his bow.

The thing; for which Alwen had no name, advanced in a slow loping run when it had noticed them. Taking in the situation quickly, Alwen slung his own bow across his body and withdrew his hunting knife.

Tamlen loosed his arrow; managing to hit the creature where its heart should have been. This did nothing to even slow the creature down; Tamlen continued to pelt whatever it was with rapid shots, which should have felled any normal beast.

Alwen rushed forward, dragging the knife across its midsection, rolling away from the rusted axe that arced up at him. He rounded back to face the creature; then he noticed. No blood. This thing, whatever it had once been; was dead.

He took a brief moment to absorb this information, dodging the ancient axe as the non-living being rounded back to Tamlen once more.

Tamlen unsheathed a set of twin daggers from his own belt, drawing the attention of the walking corpse. Alwen saw his chance and unsheathed a second blade himself; he leaped with feline grace, pulling his knives across in a duel weapon sweep; decapitating the creature.

They both watched, breathing heavily; as it slumped to the ground. 'Is it dead?' Tamlen asked nudging at the remains with a cautious toe.

'It wasn't alive, but it should remain… inanimate now; I believe it is time to leave yes?' He raised an eyebrow and side stepped both elf and desiccated remains. Alwen suddenly became aware that Tamlen's footsteps, instead of catching him up, were in fact retreating further into the ruins.

Cursing aloud, he turned on his heel; intending to drag the fool back to the Keeper. He raced after Tamlen; who was pushing open the door they had been about to pass when they had been attacked.

Just as he shot out his hand to haul his clan mate out of this domain of the Dread Wolf, he saw it. It was beautiful; but reminded Alwen of poisonous creatures of the forest. So you beautiful; but deadly if you got to close.

Tamlen was seemingly mesmerised by it. His blue eyes shining with childlike wonder. He had let down his guard, sheathed his weapons. Alwen would not allow himself to do the same. Tearing his eyes from the object before them he found he was staring some sort of giant bear in the eye.

He pulled out his bow and nocked an arrow quickly training it onto the beast before him. It was unlike any of the bears of the forest, somehow hideous and unnatural.

'It's beautiful isn't it? I wander what the writing says' Tamlen broke into his thoughts. It took nearly all his will power to remain calm before he trained an arrow on the fool beside him. 'The Keeper might be able to translate.'

He risked shooting a glance at the other young hunter, willing for him to snap out of it. 'Odd that it isn't broken like everything else… especially with that bear lumbering around in here.'

So he had noticed the beast then… and yet he just stood there. The creature let out a roar and began to hurtle toward Tamlen.

Alwen loosed the arrow into its flank, but it was moving so fast; barrelling toward them. He quickly dispatched all five of the throwing knives he had in his belt before it went down. Then he buried an arrow into its heart, to prevent any suffering.

It was so close to them, and yet Tamlen had not removed his eyes from the large mirror before him. Alwen's survival instincts went into overdrive.

Where had that bear even come from? The door had been closed and there was no other way into this room that he could see.

Tamlen was still prattling on, why hadn't he noticed? Couldn't he feel that this place was evil? He once again reached out to tear Tamlen away and get them out of the cursed place; then Tamlen's words caught up to him.

'_What_?' 'Something moved. In the mirror' the fool repeated. 'Get it away from it Tamlen'. Panic now had its claws gripping at his heart. His friend stepped even closer to the mirror stroking its surface; which rippled like water. He said he could see things; thing that were not there.

Alwen stared at the man he had known his entire life, the hunter he knew inside and out down to the finest detail. So familiar; and yet now a complete stranger.

He could not listen to these rantings; could not watch this descent into madness. He would carry him if he had to. Tamlen suddenly became afraid; screaming out that something had seen him.

Alwen flung himself forward to pull Tamlen away; get them out of there, but before he could reach him he was blinded by a brilliant flash of white light. He felt himself being thrown from a dais, he wasn't aware he had climbed

A burning, crawling sensation filled his very soul; making him wish for oblivion. And then nothing, nothing but darkness.

The burning sensation had dulled to a constant annoying itch deep beneath his skin. Tamlen was gone; disappeared without a trace. And he had had to make a choice. Leave or Die.

He deserved to die, he knew; but his clan had wanted him to live, and he would not deny them this having lost Tamlen.

Alwen shot another surreptitious glance at the Shemlen he now travelled with. The dark haired man, whose hair grew from his very face, had found him. The Keeper had respected him; trusted him. He had been courteous enough and had definite skill from what the young hunter had seen so far. Still Alwen could not help resenting him, though he had no reason to.

The other two were a curious pair. One was an elf like himself; although a definite flat-ear, the other a Shem roughly the same age as him. They stumbled as a fawn would through the forest; and clung to each other.

Perhaps they had bonded? He was unsure of Shemlen customs in such matters. They seemed close enough he supposed, though they had fortunately not displayed any true intimacy in his presence.

Their closeness irked him; made him yearn for his clan. They too had been polite and had both shown an aptitude for the gift of magic, although they seemed reluctant to use it.

He understood they had both had a hand in his healing; he should be grateful, but he wasn't. He was still dying from the corruption within him. He could only hope that the cure he had been offered would help the darkness in his soul to ebb; that he might smile again one day.

For the moment though, it seemed that Fen'Harel was close on his trail.


	6. In which we catch up with the Couslands

**Just a little interlude here; short but necessary. Hope you like it! **

_Alistair,_

_We are camped with the Dalish in the outskirts of the Brecillian Forest. One of the people had stumbled on to a corrupted magical artifact and almost succumbed to the darkspawn taint; with the help of our Magi recruits, we have managed to stabilise him. I have spoken to the Keeper, and if he regains himself in the next two days; I will bring him with us to Ostagar to undertake the joining. I am sorry for the delay my friend._

_May the Maker watch over us all_

_Duncan_

When dawn had broken over the horizon on the third day; his little sister had approached him.

'We won't catch him at this rate.' She held up a hand and stared him down calmly. 'There's no place in the Wardens for a child, even if they did accept us.' Aiden knew where this was going and clenched his jaw.

'Then let us head directly for Ostagar; we have the maps, why not head there directly?' They had had this argument before, and he couldn't fault her logic, but he had to try…

'Look,' Rosalie had anticipated this reaction and sought to head off the impending argument. 'You know that the King is there, there's no way they would admit a group of blood covered strangers into the camp; and we agreed, we can't reveal ourselves as Couslands right now.'

Oriana is not trained in any sort of combat and Oren is a child. They are going to need protection.' She had reached out for his hand and held it tenderly, as though they were children again. 'You could easily pass for a family of refugees fleeing the darkspawn in the south.'

And what of you?' He demanded, snatching his hand away. 'You're a little old to pass as my daughter.' To her credit; his sister flinched only slightly at his cutting words.

'I will seek refuge in the ranks of the Wardens.' Aiden opened his mouth, but she continued before he could interrupt her again.

'Fergus is already there with the king's army. He may still fall in battle.' She did not mention the possibility of an assassination attempt; though they both knew the likelihood of this outcome.

'You look enough like him to pass for Oren's father, but not enough that you will be immediately spotted as the Cousland heir. This offers the three of you protection if you pose as refugees.'

Aiden tried once more to intercept her monologue; but was stared into silence yet again. 'Aiden, when it is noted that we are missing among the dead; they're going to expect us to stick together. If we did stay together, it would weaken us.

'I can offer myself to the Wardens and if they accept me; I'll become untouchable by law. If they don't, I'll find another way.'

She looked up at him imploringly, eyes glistening. 'If Fergus is lost in battle; the Teyrnir falls to you at least until Oren comes of age. You know this is how it must be.'

Aiden stood for a moment; mouth open, trying to find a way to fight this course of action. But he couldn't; as much as he hated it, and as much as it pained him, no matter how useless it made him feel… It made strategic sense.

He scanned the face of his little sister, taking in her familiar features; clearly she had now become a formidable woman. 'Mother taught you well Sally.' He said simply and pulled her into a tight embrace.

When she pulled away she turned from him quickly and gathered only her weapons and a couple of items which she transferred from her pack to her belt. She then yielded the rest of her carefully maintained survival and hunting pack to him.

She made to leave, but he caught hold of her arm. 'If I am to pose as a refugee, I should probably not be toting this around.' Aiden lifted the shield from his back. It bore the twin laurels of Highever and would indeed have left his story of fleeing from the south unbelievable.

She looked up at him with watery eyes as she accepted the heirloom; and managed to offer him a weak smile. And then she left, war hound trotting at her side.


	7. In which Alistair tries to lead

**A/N A massive thank you to those of you out there that are following, I hope this doen't disappoint. **

'Alright, Duncan should be arriving at some point today' Alistair said to his three charges. When none responded he gave a small sigh and carried on anyway.

'The Joining is sure to take place soon, not to mention the battle the king is preparing for. One of the senior Wardens is running drills with the king's army; feel free to join in. The quartermaster has a good stock and has consented to discount wares he sells to any of the Grey if you need further supplies. Oh and the revered mother is offering blessings over where they do the Chant of Light…'

He trailed off. He had really tried his best with these three, but apparently to no avail.

The knight clearly resented his age, being a good few years older than Alistair. He had showed little respect for him for one so intent on joining the order. He also found the young Warden's sense of humour endlessly frustrating.

Daveth was the polar opposite; not seeming to take anything seriously at all. In fact he had spent most of his time attempting to chat up any woman he met, including several members of the Chantry.

It was the elf that perplexed him the most though. She had skill for sure; very self-aware and inventive using whatever she could find. It was almost as though she wasn't entirely there; she was just going through the motions.

She didn't even socialise with anyone outside of training, not that she was the life and soul during drills. Her constant vague expression put him on edge, even if she had proven she could handle herself.

Alistair watched the three depart; all headed in a different direction, and ran a hand through his dark blonde hair, carefully to ensure it kept its shape.

They didn't fight as a unit he knew, and though he had tried to encourage teamwork; these three had refused to rely on others.

He really hoped that Duncan wouldn't be too disappointed with his efforts; this caused him to let out another, heavier sigh before heading off toward the camp entrance.

The junior Warden had just made it to the bridge when he saw that the king was headed over the bridge in that direction. Greeeat. At least for now king Cailan was in fact headed away from him, Alistair thought thankfully.

He stopped still next to a soldier who had been posted this side of the bridge, and engaged him in small talk as he watched out for the Warden-Commander.

Rosalie had finally caught up with the Warden and his recruits somewhere in the Southron Hills less than a day from Ostagar; and Duncan had thankfully accepted her as a recruit. He had apparently been aware of her from his time at the tourney, even though they had not been introduced.

He had not asked her reason for wanting to join the order, nor did he ask how she had found them; but she would no doubt have to explain herself soon.

They had set up camp for the night in a cave; for which she was grateful having neither tent nor bedroll and the nights were still painfully cold this far south even in the height of the Ferelden summer.

Brief introductions had been made, and with a fire burning curtesy of the beautiful elven mage; Rosalie had offered to hunt.

The other elf had grunted at this; though he had made no move to so much as look at her in the slightest. She was sure that had she the energy she would have been affronted; but she didn't so she waited for Duncan to respond.

He gave a nod in assent so she picked up her bow and made to leave. 'Take Alwen with you' the warden commander called to her back, and though it wasn't mentioned; she knew she was to leave Cerberus behind.

Rosalie turned back to the Dalish elf with a slight frown. The elf in question gave a curt nod himself and drew his own intricately formed bow from his back. 'Stay here Seb, we'll be back soon' she offered the disappointed dog a compensatory ear scratch; before the two hunters left the cave together in silence.

She allowed him to take the lead following at his side slightly in his wake. There would be little in the way of birds this late in the day; but hopefully they would be able to track some game before night truly fell.

Alwen was a true hunter; she watched his soft predatory movements as he took in their surroundings expertly. A while later he put his hand on her arm, and pointed at the faint tracks.

Rosalie nodded and nocked an arrow into her bow; waiting for him to do the same before they advanced.

Alwen had been surprised at the aptitude of this Shem, she moved almost silently and had been very respectful of him granting him the lead. As he had regarded her, he noted that she behaved as any of the people would have done during a hunt; this was puzzling. Who was this Shem?

They were on the trail of a deer, most likely an adolescent; when he caught the scent. Cursing inwardly, he turned to warn her; and found her hand on his arm in her own silent warning. This was _not_ a normal Shem!

Alwen nodded to her and turned back to find a pair of feral yellow eyes boring into him. He was about to raise his bow in defence, when the strange Shem shot out her hand and stayed him.

He watched as the mysterious woman continued to stare at the wolf; which in turn stared back at her, though both remained still.

This way beyond anything he could comprehend, but made no move himself; surprisingly he found he respected this Shem huntress. The wolf eventually slunk away, disappearing back into the trees much to his astonishment.

Seconds later, the deer they had been tracking shot into the clearing in which they stood. In his slightly dazed state, he missed his shot and could only watch as the beast sprang away past him.

Rosalie however managed to bring the animal to the ground with an arrow in its flank. Having felled the creature; she swiftly stepped forward to end its pain with a dagger she had pulled from her belt.

This act of small mercy was not something Alwen had thought the Shemlen to be capable of. As he struggled with his inner prejudices, she produced a hunting knife from her boot and proceeded to cut a sizable chunk of flesh from their catch.

'What are you doing Shem?' He asked, wanting to be away from this place where everything seemed to deny its very nature.

Rosalie let the meat drop to the ground and gazed up at him. Her eyes were green like his, but lighter with more blue in them. She really was quite beautiful for a Shem.

'I'm making sure nothing is wasted. That wolf was obviously tracking this particular deer too, and we will most likely reach Ostagar tomorrow barring a disaster. We have no need of that much meat, even if only Duncan and I aren't half starved. I've cut it so that the pelt might still be used as well. Will you help me carry it?'

She tilted her head to one side and offered him a wary smile. 'My name is Rosalie by the way; if that's a bit of a mouthful you can call me Rose.' She stood, holding up the front feet of the deer. It had been an adolescent; at least he had been right about something.

The elf bent to gather the hind legs. 'So, can I call you Alwen then? I'm guessing you're not an Al.' As he stood, prey in hand, he offered her his first genuine smile since Tamlen had been lost.

He gave her a nod in the affirmative; and they silently picked their way back to the others.


	8. In which Duncan finally gets to Ostagar

**A/N: Thank you to anyone who is still reading this, I know the pace is quite slow at the moment; I tried to edit it down, but everything just seemed important for one reason or another.**

Finally they had arrived. Alistair watched Duncan make his way to the bridge with an entourage of new recruits.

He could pick out the two mages immediately as they were both sporting standard circle robes. He would have to tread carefully there; hopefully they wouldn't hold his Templar training against him.

Following behind was the Dalish elf Duncan had mentioned in his last letter; wearing unusual armour and sporting even more unusual facial tattoos. His pale complexion only hinted at the corruption already surging through him.

And then there was somebody else walking beside the elf. She had dirty blonde hair braided back with a mabari war hound trotting at her side; and she captured his attention immediately.

Duncan hadn't mentioned her had he? Alistair fought the urge to rifle through his correspondence to see if he had missed something. She had a shield on her back which bore the crest of Highever. Perhaps she was one of those Duncan had left a missive with; or maybe even the one that the Teyrn had mentioned personally, Rosalind Gilmore?

He leaned up against a pillar mulling this over as he regarded the group; when the king of all people approached Duncan.

Alistair tried to stifle his snicker at the collected reaction to this. The two mages had awkwardly dipped into a strange half bow, the elf had granted one curt nod in acknowledgement and Duncan offered a military salute.

His eyes drifted back to mystery woman; she too had dipped into a graceful curtsy, but had also angled herself almost directly behind Duncan. A wanted criminal perhaps? It seemed unlikely to Alistair, but stranger things had happened and Duncan _had_ conscripted that cutpurse.

Duncan then dismissed the new recruits gesturing to the camp where Alistair stood. The two mages then bobbed down again before the group moved off towards the main body of the camp.

Alistair straightened in preparation to greet them; when he saw the king shoot out his hand and personally stopped the young blonde woman, and began to engage her in conversation.

The Dalish elf had paused momentarily looking back at them, but moved off again at a slight shake of her head. That was odd, he mused watching the exchange develop. He really hoped that the king wasn't putting the moves on the new recruit, he was _married_ after all.

It was at this moment that the revered mother broke into his thoughts, and catching him off guard; had him scuttling off on some fool's errand. Alistair had the feeling that there was a joke in that somewhere, and that he was the butt of it.

It had been a painful encounter, but at least it was over Rosalie sighed.

Cailan had recognised her, as dishevelled and dirty as she was; that was not good. She had revealed the events at the castle to him and Duncan, and she hoped she had convinced them both to keep her identity to themselves.

She had asked after Fergus, but luck was not with her on that front; he was already on a scouting mission out in the wilds Maker knew where.

Business with the king seemingly concluded, she had briefly discussed his over-confidence with Duncan, before the commander had asked her to seek out a junior Warden by the name of Alistair.

It wasn't until she had reached the other side of the bridge that she realised she had no idea what this Warden looked like; or where to begin looking for him.

Rosalie stopped short, stunned by her own stupidity. Maker she was tired! She couldn't stop now; or she feared she would never find the strength to start again. She could feel a lump beginning to form in her throat and a sting in her eyes which threatened tears were on the way.

Unwilling to allow herself to breakdown she felt for the comforting presence of Cerberus and forced herself to take another few steps toward the camp. It was then she noticed the soldier posted a little way ahead of her.

Smiling at him warmly; she enquired about both the camp layout and the Junior Warden named Alistair. Luckily for her; the guard seemed quite familiar with the dark blonde warrior that was currently running an errand for the revered mother.

Thanking him she made her way into the main body of the camp, silently hoping that this Alistair wasn't one of these mindless devouts she could never seem to suffer gladly.

Damien and Eilonwye were talking to a much older woman also dressed in robes; clearly a mage they knew judging by the animated interaction. Alwen was sitting alone by a large fire nearby.

Smiling genuinely, Rosalie approached her new friend. He raised an eyebrow at her; causing a chuckle to escape her lips as she shrugged. 'I've been told to find someone, would you mind terribly if I left Seb with you?'

Alwen switched his gaze to the dog and held out a hand to the hound. After a surreptitious sniff, he received a friendly lick for his troubles; at which the elf looked back up at her and returned her smile.

'Okay you two, stay out of trouble!' And with a wink, Rosalie headed off in search of the elusive Alistair.

Well that had gone well sighed Alistair; watching as the enraged mage knocked somebody out of his way. At least he wasn't a toad he mused, lost in his own thoughts as he followed the retreating back which still radiating fury.

He was vaguely aware that the someone who had been run into by Mr. Grumpy had approached him; and without thinking he opened his mouth.

'You know, one good thing about the blight is how it brings people together!' Alistair finally brought his focus back to the person now standing before him. Oh Maker! It was _her_; the mystery woman. He felt his ears suddenly burn red.

Her mouth quirked up at one side and her brilliant green eyes sparkled like jewels mischievously 'I know exactly what you mean.'

He was so relieved with this response, Alistair's mouth was running itself again before he could process what he was saying; something about a darkspawn party. _Stop Alistair!_ He could feel the blush creeping up his neck; _Oh Maker! Stop talking!_

Finally he regained control of his faculties; Andraste only knew what he had just said to her, at least she didn't seem offended.

'Wait, we haven't met…' _Way to go Captain Obvious _'…I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?' _And now she thinks you're a mage hate, fantastic!_

'Would that make your day worse?' She raised an eyebrow at him playfully. _Greeeat; maybe she was a mage. _'Hardly I just like to know my chances of being turned into a toad at any given minute.' He really wasn't making this easy on himself.

'Wait, you must be one of Duncan's new recruits, I should've recognised you…' She finally took mercy on him as his cheeks flushed; and held up a hand to stop him talking.

'No harm done Alistair.' Her eyes were laughing at him; _and_ she knew his name. _Sod!_ 'Yes. Well. As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you as you prepare for the joining. Well he _hoped_ he was.

'Pleased to meet you; my name is Rosalie.' _He should have asked; why hadn't he asked?_ 'Right that was the name! _Duncan had mentioned that name, hadn't he? She must be the one recommended by the Teyrn. Why couldn't he remember?_

Rosalie's eyebrows shot up at that, all traces of her smile gone as she regarded him quizzically. He really hoped he hadn't offended her; seemed to familiar or something. Maker he was bad with women.

'Duncan wrote me on his travels, you're from Highever right?' She was staring at him now and he felt his ears heating up again. She blinked rapidly a few times, then regaining her composure; offered him a weak smile.

It was then he really looked at her. She had dark circles under her eyes and streaks of dirt on her face. There was more mud under her fingernails and matted into her hair.

He briefly wondered what colour it would be without all the dirt, when he noticed that there were smears and spatters stained into her leathers, that he was pretty sure were blood.

She was young, probably a couple of years younger than himself, and right at this moment she looked lost. He felt the overwhelming urge to take her in his arms; he wasn't even sure why. What he did know, was that he wanted to see her smile properly again; even if it was at his expense.

'So it's just occurred to me that there have never been that many women in the Grey Wardens.' She raised her eyebrow at him; eyes glinting once again.

'Probably because we're too smart for you.' Rosalie retorted _his was more like it! _'True, but then; what does that make you? He watched as she broke into a wide grin 'Just one of the boys?'

He couldn't help himself, he laughed aloud at this and gestured toward the Grey warden camp, near to the fire she had left Alwen with Cerberus. To his surprise, she linked his arm as they headed over to the other recruits.

Alwen sat quietly beside the mages he had travelled with; it seemed the Shem usually locked those with the gift away in a tower. They were an absurd people. He absent-mindedly stroked the flank of the war hound beside him as he watched the gifted pair converse.

They had not bonded, it was now clear; they were simply clan mates of a kind. Cerberus lifted his head and let out a loud bark, alerting Alwen to her approach. She was walking over holding the arm of a new Shem; who looked somewhat dazed.

Catching his eye, Rose smiled at him widely and sat beside him; pulling the Shem down with her. 'How was he?' She asked reaching out to the dog and scratching his ears. The elf smiled at her and nodded, indicating there had been no problems with the mabari terrorising anybody.

Alwen felt decidedly out of place amongst so many Shemlen and shifted a little awkwardly. The ever perceptive Rosalie took this in her stride and introduced the newcomer to those at the campfire.

'This is Alistair, he's a junior Warden, and Duncan told me to find him; so he must be important. She explained smiling impishly as Alistair's face became very warm; and not because of his proximity to the fire.

'This is Alwen, of the Dalish Sabrae Clan; the most talented hunter I have ever had the pleasure of tracking with.' She had put her hand on his shoulder and he found himself unable to look anyone in the eye; though he was unsure as to why.

'This is Damien, and next to him Eilonwye; they're from the circle. I haven't seen them in action to much so far; but I know that Eilonwye is good at burning things, and both of them helped to save Alwen's life.' She beamed over at them as Damien let out a little embarrassed cough and Eilonwye smiled shyly back at her.

'And this handsome beast is Cerberus.' She patted the mabari once more; and he let out an appreciative bark.

Hearing the approach, both Alwen and Rosalie turned; her skill was great, he wondered again where she had learned to be so like the Dalish. She caught his eye briefly and grinned at him before looking up at the four advancing figures.

It was Duncan with two more Shemlen and another elf; clearly a flat ear.

'I see you have met Alistair, these are your other fellow recruits; Jory, Daveth and Cliodna. I shall leave you to get acquainted. Alistair can show you where to find the mess tent and to restock supplies; then I would like a word with him myself. Rest well tonight my friends; for tomorrow your true test begins.'

With that Duncan retreated back to his own tent within the Grey Warden camp.


	9. In which Introductions are Made

**A/N I was just reading over what I've pu up do far, and realised that some of the names might be a little unclear how you pronounce them, so this is how they sound in my head:**

**Alwen - All-win**

**Cerberus - sir-buh-russ (nickname Seb - Seb)**

**Cliodna - Clee-oh-nah (nickname Clio - Clee-oh)**

**Damien -Day-me-enn**

**Eilonwye - Eye-lon-we (nickname Eila - Eye-lah)**

**Rosalie - Rose-ah-lee (nickname Rose - Rose)**

**Hope that clears that up - but if you prefer to pronounce it differently, feel free ;)**

**Thank you to those still reading - sending you happy vibes :)**

Alistair quickly debriefed the fully gathered recruits with the layout of the camp and asked if anybody needed anything.

Rosalie did, but she rather thought the elf with the flame coloured curls had need of more; and was for some reason keeping quiet.

When nobody asked anything of him, Alistair glumly excused himself and scuttled off after Duncan. 'Somebody's in trouble.' One of the newly introduced recruits said with a sing song voice while smirking. He had short cut dark hair and brown eyes which twinkled mischievously.

He tried to engage Rosalie in what he probably thought was irresistible small talk; but she quickly shot him down. 'I'm ever so sorry my good man, but as you can see; I am rather in need of certain supplies. If you could excuse me…'

She walked away from him quickly, over towards the red-headed elf; before he could ever so kindly offer his assistance.

'Excuse me.' Cliodna looked up at the filthy blonde Shem with narrowed eyes. 'There are a few things I need –'

'So? You want me to fetch them for you? Or maybe follow behind at an appropriate distance and then carry your _things _to your tent? Or is it that your armour needs polished whilst you shop?'

Rosalie let out a heavy sigh. 'I was under the impression that race among other things were not a factor when it came to the Grey Wardens; have they really made you polish armour? Perhaps they make all the new recruits undergo some sort of initiation… Anyway, no, I was actually going to ask you if you needed anything and yes I was going to ask you to accompany me as you know the camp better than I. If I promise to carry your things back, will you come?'

The elf looked somewhat confused and a little abashed. Seizing her chance; Rosalie linked her arm with the smaller woman and pointed over to where Alistair had vaguely gestured the quartermaster would be. 'I'll take that as a yes? This way wasn't it? I'm Rosalie by the way, or Rose; whatever.'

Alwen watched the two women depart. Rose clearly had a way with people; all people. He allowed himself a small smile as he saw the elven maid visibly soften towards the Shem.

Bedroll and armour repair supplies in hand, the strange blonde Shem reached out to take her purchases also.

'I can manage.' Cliodna snapped. 'I know, but a deal is a deal; you come and I carry.' The woman said simply smiling down at her; but without pity or anything else derogatory.

'You are a very strange human' she replied as she relinquished her own purchases. To her surprise, she found that she too was smiling; which was the first time since she had left Denerim.

'Before we head back, is there anywhere I can wash up? Alistair didn't mention anywhere, I don't think men really think about that sort of thing, but I am _filthy!_'

Cliodna was even more surprised that she was staring to quite like Rose. 'Hmmm, there's a well actually situated in the Grey Warden camp, but the water is freezing and it's right out in the open; not the sort of place _I'd _want to spend any time in my smalls.'

Rosalie contemplated this for a moment 'where there's a will; there's a way. Let's drop all this off first; then I have a thought…'

The two returned to the fire in companionable silence, and for the first time Cliodna thought; being a Warden might not be so bad.

Eilonwye was so glad that Damien was here with her. Everything was so strange, so loud and unregimented. When she had voiced this to him in the mess tent; the entire table had laughed at her uproariously. She supposed it was not the best compliment she could have given an army.

They had just meandered back to the campfire when the two other female recruits approached them. She offered up a shy smile and hope that they weren't mage haters.

The human girl had travelled with them on the last leg of their journey, but had spent that time with the Dalish elf; even though he barely spoke.

The elf with the fiery red curls she knew nothing of at all. Still they were all about to become Wardens, and hopefully that counted for something.

'I wonder if I might ask a favour of you?' It was the human who spoke; softly and with a kind smile. This did not bode well, her thoughts retracing the last time she had done someone a favour.

Feeling his best friend beginning to tense, Damien came to her rescue. 'Is it anything I could help with?' The woman smiled warmly back at him.

'Not really, I'm afraid. But before you think ill of me, please let me explain. I am filthy and smell like the back end of a dog _and_ I have Maker knows what in my hair. There appears to be only one source of water, which is not only situated right in the middle of camp, but is a miracle it hasn't frozen over…'

She then turned her eyes back to the elven mage. '…I was hoping that you might consent to helping us take some of this water somewhere away from the eyes of so many men; who have no doubt not seen a woman in her smalls since arriving here. Of course if you do help, there's a wash cloth and some lovely lemon scented soap in it for you, but if not; no hard feelings.'

Damien smiled; he liked this Rosalie he decided, she had a good aura. 'Your choice Eila; you are getting a little rank you know.'

'Says _you_ good Ser, one might mistake _you_ for a dog in the half light. She retorted and punched him playfully in the arm. 'Count me in.' She beamed jumping to her feet; and the three women left together.

It had taken Rosalie a fair bit of cajoling in the mess tent; but she had emerged with three large clean kettles and a bottle of red wine.

They had each filled a kettle at the well and retreated to the quietest corner they could find. Cerberus had been stationed to alert them to any approach and Eila had kindly placed a couple of repulsion glyphs to protect their modesty from prying eyes.

The three women delighted in the process, it almost felt like a ritual; scrubbing away their old lives. When they were satisfied they were as clean as they were going to get; Rosalie brought out the wine, and Clio deftly opened it.

Rosalie combed out her hair with her fingers, revelling in the lack of mud in her loosely waved blonde hair. She then proceeded to braid it back again in a single plait.

She had always thought this "female bonding" as her mother called it; was a clever ruse to divulge information in the form of idle gossip. But here and now she truly felt the camaraderie it instilled.

A pang of regret shot through her; which she quickly doused with another gulp of the cheap red wine. 'Bleh! _Not_ a good year.' She grimaced, causing her companions to giggle.

'An excellent vintage to forget' added Clio; which had all three of them in hysterics, although none of them were quite sure why this was funny.

Alistair emerged from Duncan's tent exhausted. He had been made to debrief him on the progress of the recruits he had sent ahead. The only impressive thing he had managed to ascertain was Cliodna's aptitude for turning anything to hand into a weapon.

The elf had fashioned several explosives, and now favoured a slingshot of her own design; which she used to propel these explosives. Many a training dummy had been lost to her.

Duncan had groaned good naturedly at his joke and commended him on his observations, but Alistair felt desolate, when it came to progress… He clearly was _not_ cut out to be a leader.

He found his feet had taken him back over toward the fire, and glanced around to see if any of the new recruits were still there.

Daveth and Jory were gone, _no surprise there_. Alwen and Damien remained however and the latter offered him a small smile, so he made his way over. He briefly wondered where all the girls had disappeared to; when all three emerged, war hound in tow, each carrying a large black pot.

They were giggling. He had never seen the city elf so much as smile, and now she was _giggling_! The three of them together were truly a sight to behold. All very beautiful, but in such different ways.

The petite elven mage was so slight, she seemed ethereal. Her waist length silvery hair and pale eyes added to this effect as though she were a benevolent spirit.

The slightly taller city elf had a sturdier build. Her shoulder length read curls blowing around her face, made it look as though she were on fire, and her hazel eyes twinkled warmly.

The human with them was not much taller, only about 5' 6" and slender. Her hair, now free of the debris it had collected, shone with a golden halo from the firelight; green eyes gleaming like precious jewels.

Alistair couldn't help but stare as they disappeared into the mess tent, then shaking his head feeling slightly dazed; he sat down beside the Dalish elf.

'How do you do that Rose?' 'What?' 'Always get exactly what you want!' 'Oh this is not what I want. What I want is a fine Antivan brandy. This is a cheap Orlesian red. And we _need_ it; anything for survival right?'

Rosalie shot a wink at her flame haired friend, causing her to chuckle as the three of them headed back to the fire. Cerberus had trotted over to Alwen as soon as they emerged from the mess tent, and Eila resumed her place beside Damien who grinned up at all three of them.

There was a notable gap between the four figures now seated around the fire; so Rosalie dragged Clio over to bridge the gap, sitting herself next to Alistair.

'Anyone for a drink? Alwen, I must say you look parched.' The elf offered her a grin but declined, and excused himself for the night, giving the war hound one last pat.

'Alistair? Damien? Care to join us? She passed one bottle over to Eila and another to Clio. Damien was clearly game, uncorking the first bottle with a flourish; so she shifted her full attention to Alistair.

His dark blond hair looked as though it had streaks of red in it, and his honey coloured eyes looked intrigued, but unsure. Rosalie shifter herself and angled her body closer to him.

'Look, is this the mage thing? It must be pretty awkward for you having been a Templar.' She kept her voice low and casual so as not to draw the attention of the others. The last thing she wanted to do was worry or offend her new friend.

Alistair stiffened and frowned at her. 'How did you know? I never… Only Duncan' He trailed off looking down at the hand she had put on his arm.

'Well apart from our first meeting _and_ the fact you chose to sit next to the silent elf instead of the chatty mage…' They both looked over at Damien who was gesticulating wildly as he told Clio one of their escapades in the circle.

Rosalie brought her face close to his and whispered conspiratorially 'You have a regulation chantry shield. They only issue that particular brand to those training to be in the order. But don't worry; I won't tell.'

She was smiling up at him as she would have with either of her brother's when she noticed the blush creeping up his neck; and realised how inappropriate she was being and removed her hand. 'Anyway, it doesn't matter, we're all the same now; Grey Wardens. Well, nearly.

'So why not drink together and forget that in other circumstances we wouldn't nod to each other on the street.' She was saying this to herself as much as to him; but this time when she offered him the third bottle, he took it with a sheepish grin.

The laughed and drank into the night, until each of them conceded that they must actually get some sleep.

As Alistair made to retire, he noticed that Rosalie was unpacking her bedroll by the dying fire. Catching his eye, she smiled sleepily; 'no tent' she said simply by way of explanation.

He could feel himself about to say something stupid in his inebriated state, when Cliodna offered to share. _Thank the Maker for that_, he thought as he waved them off. But internally his emotions were conflicting.

All being well, the joining would take place in a couple of days' time, and not all of them would necessarily make it. He shuddered; the thought of his new friend not making it made him feel sick. _Or maybe it was the wine?_

Arriving at his tent, he crawled on to his bedroll, stripping his armour off haphazardly; and collapsed into a fitful sleep.

Cliodna was also asleep, but heavily so, and snoring softly. Rosalie smiled across at the feisty young woman who had offered to share her tent; despite the fact she was obviously wary of humans.

Trust was a wonderful, double edged sword she mused. It took great courage to trust somebody completely, and it could strengthen you tenfold. But only when you placed your trust in the right people. Trusting the wrong person could cost you everything; Howe was proof of that.

Should she trust these Warden recruits? They would be fighting together after all; her life may depend on one or more of them, and theirs on her. She liked what she had seen so far, that much was true; even if all of them seemed to have their own trust issues.

But Rosalie had never trusted anybody completely, that would leave her vulnerable; weakened. She shook her head and tried not to feel so disgusted with herself. After all; they would be fools to trust her.


	10. In which we Enter the Wilds

Alistair woke with a jolt and found himself eye to eye with Daveth.

'Shit.' Was all the former cutpurse had to say frozen to the spot, no doubt being caught red-handed had not been part of his plan.

Before Alistair could open his mouth, laughter erupted from beside him. The former Templar jerked around to find his small tent was in fact; rather crowded.

Cliodna had collapse and was practically rolling around in a fit of giggles. 'Your face!' seeming to be the only words she could get out.

Behind her, Alwen sat cross-legged; his head resting on one hand, a hint of a smile playing on his mouth.

Next to him was Rose. He stared at them blankly, his brain seeming a little too big for his skull.

Grinning over at Daveth; Rosalie called out 'That would be five silvers a piece my good man!' Her voice seemed to boom around the tent; why in the void was she shouting?

Looking back at the man, who was now nearly nose to nose with him since he had sat up; far too close for comfort. Alistair tried desperately to piece together what was happening, but he found it hurt to think.

'This was a fix; I was always going to lose being last!' Complained the rogue; rubbing at the stubble on his chin. 'And yet you took the bet as you are "confident in your masterful skill"; cough up.' Rosalie smiled sweetly back at him.

Swearing again, Daveth threw a small coin purse at her, which she caught in one hand; before he stormed from the overcrowded tent.

Feeling a little dazed and somewhat confused, Alistair suddenly realised he was not wearing a shirt and quickly pulled a blanket around his shoulders. He could feel his face burning, so knew he was already blushing furiously.

'Good morning Alistair!' Rosalie intoned; seemingly oblivious to his discomfort. 'Please forgive the intrusion. A certain someone made some very bold claims; which turned out to be utterly false.'

She was smiling impishly at him; but all he could do was blink back at her. 'We're all up, so Duncan says whenever you're ready we can head out.'

The three tent invaders then scrambled ungracefully out of his tent. Alistair pushed the blanket from his shoulders with a sigh and began fumbling around for the things he knew he would need. Luckily; it all still seemed to be there.

A small cough caused him to spin back around to the entrance and over balance landing heavily and painfully. Cliodna had poked her head back in 'Eila said you might need this, she wasn't sure how much you actually drank; but apparently Damien was in a really bad way.'

She tossed a small vial into his lap and was gone; leaving him gaping after her. He dressed quickly fearing further intrusions and was pulling on his boots when he overheard Clio remark; 'not bad for a Shem!' with obvious implication in her voice, probably to Rosalie.

He threw back the mystery potion, which was bitter and cold; but left him feeling decidedly more human. 'Bloody rogues!' he muttered to himself; then grabbing his shield and sliding his sword into its scabbard; he set out to find Duncan. Today was going to be a long day.

Alistair was quietly surprised how well six of the seven recruits fought together. Clearly draining to much wine and making silly bets was key.

He was under strict instruction to alert the group to the presence of any darkspawn; but not to allow them to rely on him to heavily. He was to provide guidance and protection, but allow them to lead themselves.

Ser Jory was proving to be a real problem. He still fought as a champion; insisting on meeting his foe head on and engaging in one on one combat. Most annoyingly he resolutely refused to acknowledge the calls of his fellow recruits.

Having completed their first task, the group had decided to set up camp for the night which only a few hours of daylight left. Scouting for a suitable location, they came across the prone figure of a badly wounded soldier.

Rosalie dropped to his side and gently asked about his wounds. Eilonwye had produced some slaves along with a deep red poultice; and Alistair had handed her some bandages.

Cliodna and Rosalie had then done the best they could; but one gash had cut right down into the bone of the poor man's leg. Damien had set to work on the wound; but with dwindling mana it was a lengthy process.

A little way off Jory was complaining to Daveth at the waste of their limited supplies on one man; but nobody paid him any mind.

In an attempt to keep his mind from the healing; which was no doubt uncomfortable, Rosalie spoke to the man whose head now rested in her lap.

His name was Luca and he was the youngest son of a fisherman in Highever. Luca told Rosalie that his unit had been sent out in to the wilds to scout the nearby surroundings. He had been separated from his comrades; and he had no idea what had become of them.

He said that she reminded him of the jewel of Highever, the Lady Cousland; and that he had known her brother, Lord Fergus. He had headed Luca's unit and he had been so proud to serve alongside him. He thanked her repeatedly; and when Damien could do no more, she bandaged his leg and helped him to his feet.

He was still very pale and his footing was shaky; Rosalie did not fancy his chances of making it make to camp on his own. 'Wait here a moment.'

Rosalie quickly took Alistair to one side. 'Hey – now we have the blood; we only need to retrieve these treaties, correct?' he nodded 'then can I suggest sending Damien and Alwen back with Luca? Alwen looks _really_ unwell and Damien has used up all he has mana-wise. It would probably be best if two others escorted them in case of further attack as well. It shouldn't take all of us to get the treaties, do you agree?'

Alistair was amazed at her foresight and smiled at her 'Sounds like a plan, who did you have in mind to be the escort?'

'I think we'll let them decide that, nobody likes a dictator.' She sighed and turned back towards the group.

On returning to the others, Alistair explained the plan and asked for volunteers to stay to find the treaties. Although none of them had looked overjoyed by the suggestion, they did accept it; Cliodna and Daveth had agreed to stay, Eila had asked to go with Damien.

Jory, however; did not accept this. He called Eila a coward and whined about honour and monsters, and showed clear distain for Alistair; accusing him of being swayed by Rosalie's feminine wiles.

Alistair could feel the collective animosity of the group towards the former knight, and was about to suggest he return to camp and take this up with Duncan. Rosalie, however; had other plans.

In a flash she stood before Jory, a dagger held to his throat. 'Now. It _really_ takes a lot for me to lose my temper, but you really do take the biscuit! It is not cowardly to want to protect those you care about. You show no respect for your senior officer _or_ you comrades-in-arms. Your refuse to follow the orders of others, but you put forward no strategies yourself. You seem to think that you are somehow superior to the rest of us; yet you are the only one consistently complaining. So I ask you, Ser Knight; are you with us, or against us?'

'I-I am with the Wardens' he stuttered, unable to keep the humiliation out of his voice.

'Good, then you may accompany Alistair, Daveth and I to recover the treaties. I suggest that you remember yourself _Ser._

That said, she withdrew from him and headed over to Cliodna to apologise and bid Luca luck. The squire had thanked her and kissed her hand in farewell. Then she began to set up a tent a little way off.

Alistair watched her turn from the group, still stiff with fury; and was surprised she could still calmly construct the canvas.

'I believe that's five silvers to me then' he overheard Damien say to Daveth. Raising an eyebrow at the mage, he walked over as the rogue threw the coin at the mage, before departing; throwing a curse behind him, stalking off to gather firewood.

'Daveth seems to be unusually charitable today' Alistair remarked. 'Hardly; he just can't resist a bet!' Damien grinned at him 'We had a little wager going on who was going to finally cave in and let Jory have it. Daveth picked Clio; but she's used to humans talking down to her, she just tunes him out. '

'What made you pick Rose?' 'Oh easy; she may let personal digs roll off her back, but when someone becomes a danger to herself or those she cares for… Well let's just say _I'll_ never cross her. Has she told you what happened with the Quartermaster? Well I'd ask her about it before you think it's a good idea to get on her bad side!'

'I'll be sure to do that!' both men turned to look at the woman in question, who was not busy setting the fire. Alistair turned back to Damien and handed him a pouch containing the vials of darkspawn blood they had each collected.

'Get these to Duncan as soon as you can and let him know that we remain for the treaties. Oh and rest up; you did really well today.' Clapping the mage on the shoulder, he shot him a lazy smile and headed over to set up the second tent.

Jory had remained uncharacteristically silent since the incident with Rosalie. He has been the one to light the campfire and offered to take the first watch with Alistair.

Rosalie briefly wondered how long he was going to try to avoid her, before retiring to one of the tents.

Jory had been the one to come up with the idea for a staggered watch; where two people would always be posted at the campsite.

Daveth was to relieve Alistair in three hours, and Rosalie would join him in six replacing Jory. The idea being that this would keep them all as rested and alert as possible. It has shown that the knight did have at least some good strategic planning ability.

Rosalie thought about this as she tried to get to sleep. Sleep was not something she managed easily since fleeing Highever, her dreams dragging her back to that night.

When sleep did eventually claim her, she was not pulled back to the burning castle; but into an altogether stranger place.

_She was standing on top of a tower; arms out stretched, emitting a powerful golden light. _

_The king was mounted atop a large silver Griffon which revealed beautiful blue plumage as it spread its wings. Both stood proud, but she could see the darkness beginning to surround them. _

_She pushed herself to shine brighter; to keep the darkness at aby. _

_But she was too far away; desperately she reached out and tried to call forth a dragon to her aid. _

_A mangled, corrupted beast surged forward to her, but brought more darkness with it. She watched in horror as the darkness closed in around the griffon. _

_A green dragon landed atop the tower next to her. She felt relief begin to wash over her; when the creature struck out at her, propelling her from the tower; before it took flight leaving the blackness to engulf both man and beast below. _

_And then she was falling, falling so fast and a voice was calling to her, telling her to fly. But she couldn't, she didn't know how; and the ground was rushing up to meet her._

Awaking with a jolt, Rosalie decided that she really didn't want to sleep anymore. Pulling her boots back on, she exited the tent.

Jory conceded the duty to her, even handing her the wolf skin cloak he had been wearing. She smiled at him as she gratefully accepted; maybe there was hope for him yet.

She sat with her back to the flames of the maintained flames; staring out into the darkness, trying to shake off that last dream, which was unlike the others that had haunted her recently.

Daveth; having completed a perimeter check, slumped down next to her and began to fiddle with his bowstring. Rosalie thought he might be trying to tighten it; but she could see it was becoming more lax.

Not wanting to hurt another man's pride; she pulled herself up on the pretext of finding more wood for the fire.

Slinging her own bow on to her back, she headed into the wooded area nearby.

Most of the fallen branches were damp from the swampy ground; but there had been enough dry for her to gather an armful. Having passed a stream to get to this point, she headed back towards the water's edge intending to fill her water skin.

She shrugged of the cloak and dumped her assorted collection of twigs on top of it; not wanting to risk ruining the wood this close to the camp.

The hairs on the back of her neck pricked up as she crouched by the stream. She whirled around, dropping her filled water skin to the ground and met two glowing yellow eyes. There was something familiar about those eyes.

Her mind whirred back to the hunt with Alwen in the Southron Hills; a very long distance for a lone wolf to travel. The beast made no move toward her as they continued to quietly contemplate each other.

The sound of a twig snapping to her left and the creak of the bowstring being drawn pulled Rosalie back to herself. Automatically she shot her right hand out to the noise, shielding the wolf; which took the opportunity to melt back into the night.

The arrow wasn't barbed, or poisoned she saw as she looked down at it, cradling her wrist with her left hand. But it still bloody hurt.

'Watcha do that for? Daveth flapped around her 'it was gonna eat you.'

'What was?

'That wolf'

'What wolf?' She could see the doubt creeping into his eyes now, before he narrowed them at her.

'If there weren't no wolf, what d'you throw your arm out for?' –ah not as daft as he liked people to believe he was then.

'I thought you were aiming for me; I didn't know it was you. You could have been one of the Chasind, or a darkspawn! Who in Thedas would take an arrow for a bloody wolf?' _Who indeed. _She pouted a little; a move that had yet to fail her.

'Bloody void; I'm sorry! I thought there was this wolf. Massive fucker – I could've sworn…'

'Daveth' she cut him off 'Is there any chance that you could possibly carry this wood back to the camp. As we are both here, it would be safe to assume the camp is now vulnerable.' The pain was really starting to get to her, and she slipped into polite diplomat autopilot.

Unwilling to trust her own tongue not to give in to the pain and release a string of expletives, she began to stride back towards the fire.

Daveth scooped up the cloak containing the firewood; and noticing her water skin, bent to retrieve that too. He shot one more look into the trees, before he scuttled after her.

Throwing the wood straight on to the dying fire, he rushed to drape the cloak back around her shoulders. 'Daveth. I think you should wake Alistair; I believe you may need the sleep more than he.'

Alistair emerged from the tent bleary eyed following after Daveth. He found himself very much awake when he took in the state of Rosalie. She was pale and trembling; cradling the wrist of her right hand, which had an arrow stuck right through it.

Crossing over to her in a few quick strides he crouched down to look more closely at the injury. 'What happened?' He asked, looking from Rose to Daveth. The latter was looking decidedly edgy; shifting from foot to foot guiltily.

'Go to sleep Daveth, Alistair will help me from here.' The rogue made a hesitant retreat into the tent Alistair had just vacated. 'So?' he prompted.

Rosalie sighed, releasing her bottom lip, she hadn't been aware she had been biting down. 'I went to get more wood. Obviously took too long. Daveth came to find me. Thought he saw a wolf about to eat me. This _really_ hurts. If you would be so kind. Her speech came in stilted bursts as she proffered her hand with the arrow protruding from it.

'Ah, of course. What do you need?' He asked, taking her injured hand and examining the wound. Luckily she hadn't lost much blood as the arrow was preventing from flowing out too quickly.

Taking a shaky gasp of air Rosalie tried to form full sentences. 'I need you to break off the fletching and pull the bastard out.' Damn. She hadn't meant to swear; and he had flinched when she spat the word out.

'I would very much like it if there was a healing poultice at the ready; failing that a bandage. I feel the right fool for sending both of out magical friends back to Ostagar right now.

Alistair started rifling through his pack and managed to locate both a poultice and a salve. He set them down next to him looked down at her. 'Ready?'

'Nearly. Could you please take the glove off my left hand?' Her voice was so quiet now, with a slight wobble, which indicated she was fighting not to cry. He peeled the fingerless leather glove from her uninjured hand. It felt somehow intimate and he could feel his ears burn as he passed the glove back into her now naked hand.

Rosalie stuffed the leather into her mouth and bit down hard; she then gave Alistair a quick nod and squeezed her eyes shut. This was going to hurt a _lot._ She should've let Daveth shoot the damn wolf. But no; for some reason she felt better knowing that the beast still lived.

Alistair looked down at the young woman; strands had come loose from her long braid and framed he face, giving the illusion of a golden halo in the glow of the fire. She looked so delicate, so vulnerable; it was a stark contrast to the fearless leader she had proven herself to be.

It warmed his heart to think that she trusted him to see her like this, to help her. He took her hand gently and positioned the arrowhead between his knees to hold it steady. He then took the shaft of the arrow with his left hand just below the fletching, carefully avoiding contact that would cause her further discomfort.

Taking a steadying breath himself, he grasped the feathers in his right hand and quickly snapped them from the arrow, letting them drop to the ground.

Rosalie had remained perfectly still, eyes determinedly shut and only allowing her breath to hitch slightly when the arrow had snapped. 'OK?' He asked softly. She jerked her head in the affirmative; but bit down harder on the leather of her glove.

Alistair pulled the cork from the vial he had set down at his side earlier. Then he gently cupped her injured hand in one of his own and gripped the arrow head in the other. She was so tense in anticipation of what would come next.

'Maybe I should have woken Jory; he might have actually enjoyed doing this to you. He could even get on his high horse for being so charitable.'

Her eyes snapped open and glared at him reproachfully. 'Then again, he might decide not to waste our "limited supplies" and leave you for Daveth's wolf.'

Rosalie couldn't help but snort with laughter at this. Feeling her relax; Alistair took the chance and whipped out the arrow, dropping it down on top of the discarded fletching. He then quickly poured the contents of the vial on to the hole in her hand, now freely bleeding.

He held on to her firmly as she gasped and tried to snatch her hand away. Rosalie clamped her eyes shut again and yelped behind the glove. Alistair had moved on to massaging the salve he had to hand gently on to the newly knitted skin.

Removing the glove from her mouth when the burning pain had subsided, she mumbled; 'that was a cheap trick' looking up at Alistair. He had that sheepish grin again; 'so I fooled you did I?' He asked playfully. Rosalie frowned, he had; and she was not easily fooled, never letting her guard down like this.

'I didn't want you to tense up at the critical moment; it would have made it hurt more. How _does_ it feel?' They both looked down at her hand, which Alistair was still absent mindedly caressing. He dropped it immediately as though burned and was glad that she seemed too preoccupied flexing her slender fingers to have noticed.

'It's a little stiff and achy, not to mention it itches like a _bitch_. But I was lucky; none of the bones were damaged.' She smiled up at him, 'if there's an injury kit going spare; I can strap it up and be able to hold my own tomorrow.' The light from the fire glinted in her eyes as she thanked him.

Alistair fumbled about in his pack, much more clumsily now she was out of immediate danger; and located a slightly frayed but mostly clean bandage. He did not like the way he was thinking right now; he knew all too well what might happen during the ritual, not to mention there was the blight to deal with. Maybe this was just a manifestation of fear? He handed her the injury kit and excused himself to check the perimeter.

A pair of golden eyes watch this interaction from the shadows at a safe distance. And, satisfied that the strange girl had not sustained serious, nor permanent damage from her injury; disappeared into the darkness unnoticed.


	11. In which the Treaties are Retrieved

**A/N Hello to all! Sorry for taking so long to get around to updating this, unfortunately sometimes life gets in the way. Would love to get some feedback so please do R&R, critisism is welcome as I aim to get better. Suggestions also welcome as no pairings are set in stone just yet. Anyway, just a quick one. Am hoping to get through the joining before Christmas x)**

They broke camp shortly after dawn, none of the four wishing to remain in the wilds another night. Daveth was fussing around Rosalie, which Alistair put down to guilt and supposed it might be some form of apology. To her credit, Rosalie did not mention the events of the night and didn't seem to hold it against the rogue.

Jory had attempted to make breakfast for the group; resulting in them forcing down grey porridge that somehow managed to be both stiff and watery at the same time. Alistair had eaten far worse in his lifetime, but was moderately surprised that Daveth had passed up an opportunity to antagonise the warrior. He was downright amazed that Rosalie had managed to clear her bowl, he somehow hadn't pegged her as the sort to have lived on rations before.

The ensuing trek was long and arduous; littered with not only darkspawn, but also a malevolent shade, which had declared itself to be Gazarath.

Rosalie had continued to surprise Alistair; deftly unpicking locks that Daveth was unable to crack and looting the bodies of the darkspawn without so much as flinching. She had also retrieved a hidden lockbox from a deserted campsite. He had expected her to break it open as it had clearly been abandoned here, but ever the unpredictable; Rosalie had carefully stored it away in her pack.

It was well after midday; and had they not been so close to their destination, Alistair would have suggested stopping to eat. As it was, they trudged on until they approached the ruins and began to scout around for the ancient documents.

He had the strangest feeling that he was being watched, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He couldn't sense any further darkspawn close enough to worry about, but he couldn't shake the feeling off. It really hadn't helped when he had knocked over a decrepit armoire, and an angry raven had shot into the air out of nowhere, flapping and cawing.

It was Jory who had eventually discovered the chest baring the seal of the Wardens. Alistair felt physically sick as it was revealed to be partially destroyed and void of contents. He was about to suggest that they continue to scour the ruins out of desperation; when Daveth shot to his feet, abandoning his water skin to drain into the dirt, holding his bow at the ready.

It was the melodious voice that caused Alistair to follow suit and draw his own sword as he spun around. Jory too, had shifted into a defensive stance, Greatsword at the ready as the scantily clad girl sauntered towards them.

Having been distracted by her silent arrival and her state of undress; Alistair had not been following what the Chasind girl (for surely that is what she must be) had been saying. He was therefore unaware a question had been asked of him, until he noticed that her golden eyes were boring into him with haughty disapproval expectantly.

Unsurprisingly it was Rosalie that mediated the situation, showing up her male companions to be suspicious and weak. Alistair could feel his ears burn as the blush began to creep up his neck as she effortlessly determined the whereabouts of the documents and politely asked the wilds girls to act as a guide so as to retrieve them.

It did not help that the wilds girl was clearly an apostate, he could practically smell the magic radiating from her; and he had been raised to fear magic outside of the circle. Trying to quash the temptation to smite the illegal mage, Alistair nursed his wounded pride as he followed in the wake of the two strongest women he had ever met. Not that he had met many.

He inwardly cursed himself for his reactions to this mystery woman; Maker only knew what Rosalie thought of him now! Not only had he actually said the phrase 'swooping is bad' he had also been unable to string together an intelligible sentence and had ended up accusing their guide of being 'some kind of sneaky witch thief'

He felt his face flush once again at the mere memory of this, and so threw a nasty glare at the back of the apostate. Sensing his gaze; Morrigan, as she had introduced herself, turned her head at met his eye with cool condescension.

Looking away from the witch quickly, he found himself meeting the questioning look of Rosalie, one eyebrow raised. That was it. He hated the bitch witch.

Having retrieved the ancient treaties from Morrigan's seemingly mad mother, the apostate had dismissively escorted them back to the path that lead to Ostagar, before melting seamlessly back into the wilderness.

On her departure Alistair felt like a weight had been lifted from him, the unease of being around powerful magic users clearly still affected him.

Still it was Daveth who seemed to be the most shaken by the experience, muttering to himself about being put into a pot. Alistair remembered that he had originated from a village close to the wilds, and briefly wondered if this had any bearings on the Rouges reaction.

Jory, glad to be back on the path had even teased the rogue that at least the pot would have been hot. He had even reminded Daveth that they had not even been turned into toads, though nothing he said seemed to ease the worry etched into the younger man's features.

The knight had then taken the lead; with any luck they would make it back to camp before nightfall. Alistair smiled to himself at the thought of retuning to Duncan successful. He would make up for that missed lunch in the mess tent and things could finally get back to normal.

It was then that he remembered the impeding joining, and felt like a bolt shot through him as he knew he would have to be present. He glanced at each of his companions, his eyes finally resting on Rosalie who seemed deep in thought.

She had remained conspicuously quiet since accepting the treaties from the old woman. She had handed them silently to Alistair, listening intently to the ravings of the mad woman. Alistair wished he'd paid a bit more attention to what she had said as he had carefully stowed the documents in his pack.

He watched her now, as they picked their way back to Ostagar. Her brow was slightly furrowed and she seemed completely unaware of her companions. In the wilds she had seemed so calm and unflappable; being nothing but polite to the two strange swamp dwellers, even when the elder had grasped her injured hand (bandaged beneath the glove) and seemed to inspect it instead of shake it in the normal way.

Alistair strained to remember what the nutty old bat had said to Rosalie, something about not being so seemingly mundane? It hadn't seemed to have bothered her; she had merely offered up a small smile and actually thanked the woman. She had been more offensive to Daveth and Jory he recalled, stating that they were irrelevant.

He bristled a little at the memory of this; anyone who had dedicated themselves to fighting the blight could not be described as irrelevant in his opinion. He felt he should comfort her in some small way and opened his mouth; unsure of what to say.

It was then that she seemed to snap out of her reverie and looked up, noticing the gate to the camp.

'Looks like we made it.' She said simply, catching his eye and offering up a weary smile. 'Is being a Warden always so fun?'

'Only during a blight' Alistair grinned, back on familiar territory with awkward humour. 'Lucky us then!' she sighed shaking her head as the four of them re-entered the camp.


	12. In which We All get back to Camp

**A/N Sorry about the huge delay on this chapter. Time just got away from me, what with life getting in the way. Hopefully The next Xhapeter will be up no later than next week.**

**This is a bit of a transition, but I couldn't leave it out - hope you enjoy - would love to hear what you think!**

**Please R&R**

**HAPPY NEW YEAR!**

Alwen was in a bad way. His normally tanned skin now seemed a translucent grey, his veins showing through a blackish-blue.

He was grateful that Rosalie had sent him back to camp, even more so that he had made it back (albeit barely) alive. This in turn made him feel a coward, but he now lacked the strength required to get angry with himself. All he could focus on now was survival.

During his apprenticeship to become a hunter, Alwen had been attacked by a giant poisonous spider; the sheer size of it had been enough to freeze him in his tracks in his youthful naivety. Finding the fight in himself only to be caught up in webbing, he had been bitten.

The poison made his movement sluggish and his mind hazy, if it hadn't been for the other apprentice drawing the beast's attention; he knew he wouldn't have made it. The creators had been watching over them that day, he had managed to free himself clumsily and help to bring the creature down.

He had been practically dragged back to the aravels; and spent a fitful night determined to survive, as his body purged the poison from his system. The next day Merrill had brought him a tea she had blended to aid his recovery; it had tasted foul, but its cleansing properties had been almost instant.

As soon as he could stand, he found the other apprentice; who had decided that the unfamiliar part of the forest was a better test of their skills than the area they had been instructed to scout. On finding him, Alwen had knocked Tamlen to the ground and hit him once, hard, in the jaw. Then he grinned down at the idiot and helped him to his feet.

He had survived then; he must survive now.

xxxxx

On his arrival back into the camp, Duncan had ordered that the Elf must rest until the Joining; so here he now was, in the Warden Commanders tent covered in a sheen of sweat and lacking the strength to stand.

Eilonwye had sat with him, easing his suffering in the small ways she could. Her healing spells were not as effective as Damien's by far; but she had tried.

Eventually she had cast a sleep spell and simply cooled his raging fever with a wet rag; offering up a silent prayer to anyone that might help an Elf.

After regaining a little of his strength, Damien had joined them and quickly drained his already depleted mana to supplement Eila's healing attempts. They exchanged a worried look; he was not going to last much longer.

xxxxx

Duncan had already begun preparations for the ritual. The decision had been made; if Alistair did not return by sundown that evening, he would have to arrange another induction for the remaining recruits.

He really hoped this would not be the case, the hoard was on the move and the next battle would be a big one. They were running out of time.

xxxxx

Cliodna had made a little coin from helping the kennel master and had been toying with what to do with it. 20 silvers was a lot to her; she could probably afford to buy her own blade, albeit a basic dagger.

She looked down fondly at her carefully crafted slingshot; it would not be much use in a real battle she supposed. Perhaps a short bow would be best?

At any rate, she had decided to wait until Rose had returned; as an Elf, she was still unsure if her coin would be trusted. Nor did she in turn trust the quartermaster to give her a fair price, even now he knew her to be a Grey Warden. She did know he would not attempt to mess with Rose again.

Clio found herself smirking at the mere memory of his face, as he stuttered and mumbled hurried apologies while Rosalie had demanded a hefty discount on their purchases for his insolence, a sweet smile on her face the entire time.

She wandered idly if he would ever dare use the term knife-ear again, for fear Rosalie might hear him.

Having found that wandering the main campsite meant that Shem kept trying to order her to do things for them; Clio had decided to scale a tree near to where the ash warriors had their base.

The war hounds were interesting to watch as she waited for her fellow Wardens to return. She hoped the poor blight infected animal she had tried to help would recover. Alwen had been the one to point out the herb and list its properties; Daveth had mentioned reward.

She had even offered to share the reward with the Dalish Elf; but he had merely shaken his head and looked at her disapprovingly. She let her mind wander to the sick Elf and shuddered; she must offer his half again when he was better.

They came into view silhouetted from the sun low in the sky; breaking her from the path her thoughts were threatening to take. Breaking into a grin, the elf dropped to the ground and bounded off to inform Duncan.

xxxxx

Alistair watched her hastily retreating back as Rosalie sprinted to Duncan's tent on hearing of Alwen's condition from Clio. With not so much as a backward glance the pair had left him just standing there; he felt a strange tug in his gut, which he shrugged off as having missed lunch. Now if he could only find Duncan; he could hand over the treaties and retire to the mess tent.

xxxxx

Eila offered Rosalie a sympathetic smile, relinquishing the cooling cloth to her. The human gently ran the rag over the Elf's face, wetting the intricate vine-like designs that ran along his defined cheekbones.

As she did so, she felt a calmness wash over herself; it was as if she knew he would pull through; that she could almost feel him telling her he was going to be alright.

Satisfied that he was still hanging on, Rosalie thanked the two magi holding vigil and retreated from the tent.

The night was falling fast now, and she shivered slightly in the breeze that had more bite this far south. Wrapping her arms around herself she made for the campfire.

Sure enough Duncan was there, Alistair at his side and clearly discussing the phantom wolf incident if his gesticulations were anything to go by.

Instinctively she flexed her fingers, testing the damaged hand. It was still a little stiff, but approaching normality again rapidly. Her pace slowed as she replayed the healing process and found herself smiling as she remembered how gentle and considerate Alistair had been.

She held ran her left thumb in circles over the palm of her right hand. It seemed strange to her how intimate such a gesture had felt. Then again, she couldn't remember the last person to tough her ungloved hand outside of her family.

Shaking her head to rid herself of such trivial thoughts she dropped her hands to her sides and began to pick up her pace.

Meeting her eye as she approached; Duncan motioned for her to join them.

'Preparations for the Joining are underway; if you and your fellow recruits could gather; Alistair will accompany you to where the ritual will take place.'

As soon as Rosalie had nodded her assent; Duncan bid a hasty retreat over to where the circle mages were camped. She looked up at the Junior Warden; all traces of humour were gone from his face, a look that made her uncomfortable to witness on him.

Whatever was coming; his face told her, it would not be good.


	13. In which We Face the Joining

**A/N So this took a lot longer than I orignially intended, So sorry for that. I will try to resume updateing at least once a fortnight, but this may not always be possible (turns out life wants to get in the way big style at the moment) Massive thanks to those who have faved and followed, you are few but mean the world to me.**

**At present this is a solo venture, so any errors you see are entirely down to me - let me know if I can fix anything!**

**Still waiting on my first review - all opinions welcome (is the pace a little slow? etc...)**

**I own nothing, bioware rules. Enjoy!**

Cliodna had not entered the tent with Rose; she couldn't watch him die. She had skulked in the shadows and waited, watched as her Shemlen friend had re-emerged from the tent looking relieved. Maybe he was not going to die after all?

She was going to call out to her, but something in the way the human moved suggested that she was lost in her own reverie. Clio saw the shadow of a smile as Rose caressed one of her hands. Clio read body language well; Rose was tracing a memory, a fond one. Perhaps there was something going on between her Alwen; that would explain her attitude toward Elves.

She contemplated this as she observed the three at the fire; the exchange was brief and when it was over she made herself known to Rose and Alistair. Sensing the tension surrounding them the Elf agreed to find Daveth and Jory, leaving the Shems to relay the message to the occupants of the death-tent.

When she was once again shrouded in shadows, Clio looked back at the two of them. There was something there; she couldn't put her finger on it yet, but there was something between these two. She wondered what had happened in the Wilds after her departure; Daveth was sure to fill her in, he was so easy to manipulate.

With a sigh she turned on her heel and headed off to find her targets.

xxxxx

Alistair didn't know what to say. He stood frozen, as the reality of the situation settled around them. He realised now why the more senior Wardens had been so distant with him before his own joining; he couldn't bear the thought of his friends not making it.

'You can't tell me anything about the joining ritual.' The words broke him from his thoughts and he looked down at Rosalie. It had been a statement, not a question, and yet he felt compelled to answer.

'I'm sorry; it's always been a secret, like the Mage's Harrowing.' Rosalie nodded once, but did not meet his eye, instead staring into the flames of the campfire. 'Which would indicate not everyone survives the process.' Alistair's eyes widened as he stared down at her, quickly running over what he had said; he had been sure he hadn't divulged any details of what was to some.

Two glassy green eyes then met his; and the haunted look in them made him want to touch her, hold her, comfort her in some small way. But he found himself once again frozen.

She hugged her arms around herself, as though she was trying to physically hole herself together. Her voice was soft, and for the first time since they met she seemed unsure of herself. 'Hey Alistair... If I don't make it tonight… My brother is here from Highever. Could you please ask Duncan to find him; there's something he needs to know.'

Before Alistair could respond, Daveth and Jory approached embroiled in some meaningless dispute with Cliodna not far behind. Rosalie had used this chance to dart back to the Warden-Commanders' tent. He looked after her and saw as she surreptitiously wiped at her eyes before ducking into the tent to collect the remaining recruits.

xxxxx

They had been waiting now for some time. Rosalie was kneeling with Alwen's head resting in her lap, Damien and Eila close by. Alistair had not waited once he had delivered them to the secluded part of the ruins.

That had seemed so out of his character mused Damien, he had really warmed to the blonde warrior. Then again; judging from recent events, he was hardly the best judge of character. His thoughts were now leading him down a dark path and instinctively he reached out foe the small pale hand beside him.

Eila looked up at her friend and saw the darkness in his eyes; she squeezed his hand gently and offered up a smile. At least they were not alone.

Cliodna was fiddling with her slingshot, trying to keep both Daveth and her nerves at bay. When it became clear that the rogue had no intention of backing off, the Elf resorted to dirty tactics; pointing behind him and gasping 'wolf!' Snickering as he whirled around, she darted off towards the others.

The longer they waited, the more agitated Jory became. It didn't help that Daveth; having admitted defeat in his advances toward Cliodna, had decided to goad the former knight.

Eventually Rosalie chastised them both and glared them into a heavy silence that settled over the group, the atmosphere electric with tension from the collective anticipation.

This was how Duncan found them; Alistair in tow. The older rogue noticed the junior Warden seek out the Cousland girl. It was to be expected really; the boy was naive and she had been the first woman to show him any kindness. He hoped for Alistair's sake that she at least would survive the night.

His eyes then swept over the group of recruits once more; each of them would be an asset to the Wardens, he was sure. And with this thought; he began the ritual.

xxxxx

Alwen had been first; Eila had lifted the sleep spell and he had been shaking so violently, Rosalie had had to help him steady the chalice to his lips. With so little strength left, it wasn't long before the elf had slumped back into unconsciousness, still alive, and looking a little more peaceful.

Laying the Elf down carefully, Rosalie had joined the other recruits on her feet.

Eilonwye had been next; collapsing on the ground in what seemed to be agony. Damien had caught her before she had hit her head, paling significantly as he did so. I moment later the Elven mage stilled and Damien carefully lowered her down, nodding to Duncan that she too still lived.

Damien then took the chalice in quaking hands, letting out a yelp of pain as he too dropped to the ground. Being prepared for this outcome, Cliodna broke the young man's fall. Good thing he was a mage, even at six foot the man couldn't weigh much more than herself.

Cliodna reached out and found a pulse; offering up a curt nod to Duncan. She then nearly snatched the cup from him; unwilling to watch as others fell to the ground around her. She gritted her teeth and remained on her feet as she felt her blood ignite within her. She staggered in an attempt to stay upright, but was soon lowered to the ground by Daveth.

The steady rise and fall of her chest clarified she was going to pull through, but Daveth placed his hand on her chest to check before he returned to his feet. Taking a steading breath, the dark haired rogue then drank from the cup. This time, something was different.

The young man's eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth open in a silent scream as he clawed at his throat for air. He dropped to his knees as blood began to ooze from his tear ducks and ears. Jory began to back away wide-eyed from the man in agony beside him. Rosalie darted forward and was pulled to the ground as he suddenly collapsed.

Fighting down the wave of nausea coursing through her she brushed his hair from his blank and staring eyes and closed them before she lowered him to the ground. Daveth had not made it.

Still knelt beside the corpse, Rosalie jerked her head up at the sound of a sword being drawn. Jory had descended into panic and was refusing to continue with the ritual. The terrified knight swung his Greatsword frantically at Duncan, but was easily out-manoeuvred by the Warden-Commander and soon joined Daveth with a dagger to the gut.

Rosalie stood once again, trembling visibly as she accepted the chalice. Her eyes sought Alistair as she brought the bloody mixture to her lips; she saw her own hope and fear mirrored there in his gaze. She drank, and managed to hand the cup back to Duncan before she too had to submit to the agony; feeling herself begin to fall. And then came the darkness


End file.
